^ 


SWALLOW    BAHN 


'ir'i^^^t-^S-' 


e  t  c  c         , 


I      \ 


S¥ALLO¥  BARN, 


OE 


A    SOJOUEN    IN    THE   OLD    DOMINION. 


BY 

J.    P.    KENNEDY. 


REVISED    EDITION. 


U'lt  QCtotnts  3:IIustralion5  i^  .Strotl^fr. 


NEW-YORK: 
G.  r.  PUTNAM  &  COMPANY,  10  PARK  PLACE. 

1853. 


K3S' 
s 

1353 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

(jEORGE    p.    PcTNi»M. 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  t)f  I.ig  District  Court  fcr  the  Southern  District  of 

NeAv-Vork. 


JOHN.  F.  TROW. 
49  AnnStrekt. 


CONTENTS. 


•♦♦»• 


CHAPTER. 

A  word  in  advance  from  the  Author  to  the  Reader, 
Introductory  Epistle,  . 

I.  Swallow  Barn, 

11.  A  Country  Gentleman, 

III.  Family  Portraits,     . 

IV.  Family  Paragons, 
v.  Ned  Hazard, 

YI.  Pursuits  of  a  Philosopher, 

VII.  Traces  of  the  Feudal  System, 

VIII.  The  Brakes, 

IX.  An  Eclogue, 

X.  Colloquies, 

XI.  Pranks, 

XII.  A  Confession,    . 

XIIL  A  Man  of  Pretensions, 

XIV.  My  Grand  Uncle, 

XV.  TheOldMiU, 

XVI.  Proceedings  at  Law,     . 

XVII.  Strange  Symptoms, 

XVIII.  The  N'ational  Anniversary, 

XIX.  The  County  Court, 

XX.  Opinions  and  Sentiments, 

XXI.  Philpot  Wart, 

XXII.  The  Philosopher  Unbent, 

XXIII.  Trial  by  View, 

XXIV.  Merriment  and  Sobriety, 
XXV.  The  Old  School,      . 

XXVI.  The  Raking  Hawk,       . 


PAGE. 

7 

18 

27 

31 

38 

44 

51 

63 

70 

76 

80 

88 

95 

105 

120 

130 

137 

145 

152 

157 

166 

175 

180 

188 

197 

210 

216 

227 


6 

CONTENTS. 

1 
i 

CHAPTEE. 

PAGE. 

xxvn. 

The  Award, 

.     238 

XXVIII. 

The  GobUn  Swamp, 

248 

XXIX. 

Story  Telling, 

.     263 

Mike  Brown, 

265 

XXX. 

An  Interlude,                      . 

.     295 

XXXI. 

Summer  Mornings, 

307 

XXXII. 

A  Country  Gathering, 

.     312 

XXXIII. 

The  Dinner  Table, 

324      ' 

XXXIV. 

A  Breaking-up, 

.     346 

XXXV. 

Knight  Errantry, 

851 

XXXVL 

A  Joust  at  Utterance, 

.     359      ' 

XXXVII. 

Moonshine. 

369      ' 

XXXVIII. 

The  Last  Minstrel, 

.     374 

XXXIX. 

Signs  of  a  Hero, 

.386 

XL. 

A  Council  of  War, 

.     393 

XLL 

"Woodcraft, 

397 

XLII. 

One  Act  of  a  Farce, 

...             .     412      . 

XLIII. 

The  Fate  of  a  Hero,      . 

420 

XLIV. 

Oratory, 

.    435 

XLV. 

Stable  Wisdom, 

441 

XLVI. 

The  Quarter, 

.    449 

XLVII. 

A  Negro  Mother, 

461 

Abe, 

.    464 

XLVIIL 

Clouds, 

491 

XLIX. 

Pleasant  Prospects, 

.     602 

Postscript, 

604 

A  WORD  IN  ADVANCE,  FROM  THE  AUTHOR  TO  THE 

READER. 


Swallow  Barn  was  written  twenty  years  ago,  and  was  pub- 
lished in  a  small  edition,  which  was  soon  exhausted.  From  that 
date  it  has  disappeared  from  the  bookstores,  being  carelessly 
consigned  by  the  author  to  that  oblivion  which  is  common  to  books 
and  men — out  of  sight,  out  of  mind.  Upon  a  recent  reviewal  of 
it,  after  an  interval  sufl&ciently  long  to  obliterate  the  partialities 
with  which  one  is  apt  to  regard  his  own  productions,  I  have  thought 
it  was  worthy  of  more  attention  than  I  had  bestowed  upon  it,  and 
was,  at  least,  entitled  to  the  benefit  of  a  second  edition.  In  truth, 
its  republication  has  been  so  often  advised  by  friends,  and  its 
original  reception  was  so  prosperous,  that  I  have  almost  felt  it  to 
be  a  duty  once  more  to  set  it  afloat  upon  the  waters,  for  the  behoof 
of  that  good-natured  company  of  idle  readers  who  are  always  ready 
to  embark  on  a  pleasure  excursion  in  any  light  craft  that  offers. 
I  have,  therefore,  taken  these  volumes  in  hand,  and  given  them  a 
somewhat  critical  revisal.  Twenty  years  work  sufficient  change  up- 
on the  mind  of  an  author  to  render  him,  perhaps  more  than  others, 
a  fastidious  critic  of  his  own  book.  If  the  physiologists  are  right, 
he  is  not  the  same  person  after  that  lapse  of  time  ;  and  all  that  his 
present  and  former  self  may  claim  in  common,  are  those  properties 


8  A    WORD    FROM    THE    AUTHOR    TO    THE    READER. 

which  belong  to  his  mental  consciousness,  of  which  his  aspiration 
after  fame  is  one.  The  present  self  may,  therefore,  be  expected 
to  examine  more  rigorously  the  work  of  that  former  and  younger 
person,  for  whom  he  is  held  responsible.  This  weighty  consider- 
ation will  be  sufficient  to  account  for  the  few  differences 
which  may  be  found  between  this  and  the  first  edition.  Some 
quaintness  of  the  vocabulary  has  been  got  rid  of — some  dialogue  has 
been  stript  of  its  redundancy — some  few  thoughts  have  been 
added — and  others  retrenched.  I  shall  be  happy  to  think  that 
the  reader  will  agree  with  me  that  these  are  improvements  : — I 
mean  the  reader  who  may  happen  to  belong  to  that  small  and 
choice  corps  who  read  these  volumes  long  ago — a  little  troop  of 
friends  of  both  sexes,  to  whom  I  have  reason  to  be  grateful  for 
that  modicum  of  good  opinion  which  cheered  my  first  venture  in 
authorship.  Health  and  joy  to  them  all — as  many  as  are  now 
alive  !  I  owe  them  a  thanksgiving  for  their  early  benevolence. 
Swallow  Barn  exhibits  a  picture  of  country  life  in  Virginia, 
as  it  existed  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  present  century.  Between 
that  period  and  the  present  day,  time  and  what  is  called  "  the  pro- 
gress," have  made  many  innovations  there,  as  they  have  done 
every  where  else.  The  Old  Dominion  is  losing  somewhat  of 
the  raciness  of  her  once  peculiar,  and — speaking  in  reference  to 
the  locality  described  in  these  volumes — insulated  cast  of  man- 
ners. The  mellow,  bland,  and  sunny  luxuriance  of  her  old-time 
society — its  good  fellowship,  its  hearty  and  constitutional  com- 
panionableness^  the  thriftless  gayety  of  the  people,  their  dogged 
but  amiable  invincibility  of  opinion,  and  that  overflowing  hospi- 
tality which  knew  no  ebb, — these  traits,  though  far  from  being 
impaired,  are  modified  at  the  present  day  by  circumstances  which 
have  been  gradually  attaining  a  marked  influence  over  social  life 
as  well  as  political  relation.  An  observer  cannot  fail  to  note  that 
the  manners  of  our  country  have  been  tending  towards  a  unifor- 


A    WORD     FROM    THE    AUTHOR    TO    THE    READER.  9 

mity  which  is  visibly  eflfacing  all  local  differences.  The  old  states, 
especially,  are  losing  their  orignal  distinctive  habits  and  modes 
of  life,  and  in  the  same  degree,  I  fear,  are  losing  their  exclusive 
American  character.  A  traveller  may  detect  but  few  sectional 
or  provincial  varieties  in  the  general  observances  and  customs  of 
society,  in  comparison  with  what  were  observable  in  the  past 
1  generations,  and  the  pride,  or  rather  the  vanity,  of  the  present 
1  day  is  leading  us  into  a  very  notable  assimilation  with  foreign 
I  usages  The  country  now  apes  the  city  in  what  is  supposed  to 
\be  the  elegancies  of  life,  and  the  city  is  inclined  to  value  and 
ydopt  the  fashions  it  is  able  to  import  across  the  Atlantic,  and 
ilius  the  whole  surface  of  society  is  exhibiting  the  traces  of  a 
process  by  which  it  is  likely  to  be  rubbed  down,  in  time,  to  one 
letel,  and  varnished  with  the  same  gloss.  It  may  thus  finally  arrive 
at  I  comfortable  insipidity  of  character  which  may  not  be  willingly 
reckoned  as  altogether  a  due  compensation  for  the  loss  of  that 
rougii  but  pleasant  flavor  which  belonged  to  it  in  its  earlier  era. 
Thert  is  much  good  sense  in  that  opinion  which  ascribes  a  whole- 
some influence  to  those  homebred  customs,  which  are  said  to 
strengthen  local  attachments  and  expand  them  into  a  love  of 
country.  "What  belonged  to  us  as  characteristically  American, 
seems  already  to  be  dissolving  into  a  mixture  which  affects  us  un- 
pleasantly as  a  tame  and  cosmopolitan  substitute  for  the  old 
warmth  and  salient  vivacity  of  our  ancestors.  We  no  longer  pre- 
sent in  our  pictures  of  domestic  life  so  much  as  an  earnest  lover 
of  our  nationality  might  desire  of  what  abroad  is  called  "  the  red 
bird's  wing" — something  which  belongs  to  us  and  to  no  one  else. 
The  fruitfulness  of  modern  invention  in  the  arts  of  life,  the  gene- 
ral fusion  of  thought  through  the  medium  of  an  extra-territorial 
literature,  which  from  its  easy  domestication  among  us  is  scarcely 
regarded  as  foreign,  the  convenience  and  comfort  of  European 
customs  which  have  been  incorporated  into  our  scheme  of  living, 


10  A    WORD    FROM    THE    AUTHOR    TO    THE    READER. 

— all  these,  aided  and  diffused  by  our  extraordinary  facilities  of 
travel  and  circulation,  have  made  sad  work,  even  in  the  present 
generation,  with  those  old  7iationalisms  that  were  so  agreeable 
to  the  contemplation  of  an  admirer  of  the  picturesque  in  charac- 
ter and  manners. 

Looking  myself  somewhat  hopelessly  upon  this  onward  gliding 
of  the  stream,  I  am  not  willing  to  allow  these  sketches  of  mine 
entirely  to  pass  away.  They  have  already  begun  to  assume  the 
tints  of  a  relic  of  the  past,  and  may,  in  another  generation,  become 
archaeological,  and  sink  into  the  chapter  of  antiquities.  Present- 
ing, as  I  make  bold  to  say,  a  faithful  picture  of  the  people,  the 
modes  of  life,  and  the  scenery  of  a  region  full  of  attraction,  ard 
exhibiting  the  lights  and  shades  of  its  society  with  the  truth- 
fulness of  a  painter  who  has  studied  his  subject  on  the  spot,  tiey 
may  reasonably  claim  their  accuracy  of  delineation  to  be  se<  off 
as  an  extenuation  for  any  want  of  skill  or  defect  of  finish  which  a 
fair  criticism  may  charge  against  the  artist.  Like  some  siga-post 
painters,  I  profess  to  make  a  strong  likeness,  even  if  it  should  be 
thought  to  be  hard^ — and  what  better  workmen  might  call  a  daub, 
— as  to  which  I  must  leave  my  reader  to  judge  for  himself  when 
he  has  read  this  book.  The  outward  public  award  on  this  point 
was  kind,  and  bestowed  quite  as  much  praise  as  I  could  bave 
desired — much  more  than  I  expected — when  the  former  edition 
appeared.  But  "  the  progress"  has  brought  out  many  competitors 
since  that  day,  and  has,  perhaps,  rendered  the  public  taste  more 
scrupulous.  A  book  then  was  not  so  perilous  an  offering  as  ii  is 
now  in  the  great  swarm  of  authorships.  Wc  run  more  risk,  just 
now,  of  being  let  alone, — unread, — untalked  of — though  not, 
happily,  unpuffcd  by  a  few  newspapers,  wlio  are  favorites  with 
the  publisher,  and  owe  him  some  courtesies. 

I  wish  it  to  be  noted  that  Swallow  Barn  is  not  a  novel.     I  con- 
fess tliis  in  advance,  althougli  I  may  lose  ]\v  it.     It  was  begun  on 


A    WORD    FROM    THE    AUTHOR    TO    THE    READER.         11 

the  plan  of  a  series  of  detached  sketches  linked  together  by  the 
hooks  and  eyes  of  a  traveller's  notes  ;  and  although  the  narrative 
does  run  into  some  by-paths  of  personal  adventure,  it  has  still 
preserved  its  desultory,  sketchy  character  to  the  last.  It  is,  there- 
fore, utterly  unartistic  in  plot  and  structure,  and  may  be  described 
as  variously  and  interchangeably  partaking  of  the  complexion  of  a 
book  of  travels,  a  diary,  a  collection  of  letters,  a  drama,  and  a  his- 
tory,— and  this,  serial  or  compact,  as  the  reader  may  choose  to 
compute  it.  Our  old  friend  Polonius  had  nearly  hit  it  in  his 
rigmarole  of  "  pastoral-comical,  tragical-comical-historical-pasto- 
ral"— which,  saving  "  the  tragical,"  may  well  make  up  my  schedule : 
and  so  I  leave  it  to  the  "  censure"  of  my  new  reader. 


INTRODUCTORY  EPISTLE. 


TO    ZACHAKY    HUDDLESTONE,   ESQ., 

PEESTON    RIDGE,    NEW- YORK. 
Dear  Zack  : 

I  CAN  imagine  your  surprise  upon  the  receipt  of  this,  when  you 
first  discover  that  I  have  really  reached  the  Old  Dominion.  To 
requite  you  for  my  stealing  off  so  quietly,  I  hold  myself  bound  to 
an  explanation,  and,  in  revenge  for  your  past  friendship,  to  inflict 
upon  you  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account  of  all  my  doings,  or 
rather  my  seeings  and  thinkings,  up  to  this  present  writing.  You 
know  my  cousin  Ned  Hazard  has  been  often  urging  it  upon  me, 
— so  often  that  he  began  to  grow  sick  of  it, — as  a  sort  of  family 
duty,  to  come  and  spend  some  little  fragment  of  my  life  amongst 
my  Virginia  relations,  and  I  have  broken  so  many  promises  on 
that  score,  that,  in  truth,  I  began  to  grow  ashamed  of  myself 

Upon  the  first  of  this  month  a  letter  from  Ned  reached  me  at 
Jjongsides,  on  the  North  River,  where  I  then  was  with  my  mother 
and  sisters.  Ned's  usual  tone  of  correspondence  is  that  of  easy, 
confiding  intimacy,  mixed  up,  now  and  then,  with  a  slashing  rail- 
lery against  some  imputed  foibles,  upon  which,  as  they  were  al- 
together imaginary,  I  could  afford  to  take  his  sarcasm  in  good 


14  INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE. 

part.  But  in  this  epistle  he  assumed  a  new  ground,  giving  me 
some  home  thrusts,  chiding  me  roundly  for  certain  waxing  bachel- 
orisms^ as  he  called  them,  and  intimating  that  a  crust  was  evi- 
dently hardening  upon  me.  A  plague  upon  the  fellow !  You 
know,  .^aohary,  that  neither  of  us  is  so  many  years  ahead  of  him. 
My  reckoning  takes  in  but  live  years,  eleven  months  and  fifteen 
daj^s—a^id  cerialnly,  not  so  mach  by  my  looks.  He  insinuated 
that  I  had  arrived  at  that  inveteracy  of  opinion  for  which  travel 
was  the  only  cure ;  and  that,  in  especial,  I  had  fallen  into  some 
unseemly  prejudices  against  the  Old  Dominion  which  were  unbe- 
coming the  character  of  a  philosopher,  to  which,  he  affirmed,  I  had 
set  up  pretensions ;  and  then  came  a  most  hyperbolical  innuendo— 
that  he  had  good  reason  to  know  that  I  was  revolving  the  revival 
of  a  stale  adventure  in  the  war  of  Cupid,  in  which  I  had  been 
aforetime  egregiously  baffled,  "  at  Rhodes,  at  Cyprus,  and  on  other 
grounds."  Any  reasonable  man  would  say,  that  was  absurd  on 
his  own  showing.  The  letter  grew  more  provoking — it  flouted 
my  opinions,  laughed  at  my  particularity,  caricatured  and  derided 
my  figure  for  its  leanness,  set  at  nought  my  complexion,  satirized 
my  temper,  and  gave  me  over  corporeally  and  spiritually  to  the 
great  bear-herd,  as  one  predestined  to  all  kinds  of  ill  luck  with 
the  women,  and  to  be  led  for  ever  as  an  ape.  His  epistle,  how- 
ever, wound  up  like  a  sermon,  in  a  perfect  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
beseeching  me  to  forego  my  idle  purpose  ;  (Cupid,  forsooth  !)  to 
weed  out  all  my  prejudicate  affections,  as  well  touching  the  Old 
Dominion  as  the  other  conceits  of  my  vain  philosophy,  and  to  hie 
me,  with  such  speed  as  my  convenience  might  serve  withal,  to 
Swallow  Barn,  where  he  made  bold  to  pledge  me  an  entertain- 
ment worthy  of  my  labor. 

It  was  a  brave  offer,  and  discreetly  to  be  perpended.  I  bal- 
anced the  matter,  in  my  usual  see-saw  fashion,  for  several  days. 
It  does  mostly  fall  out,  my  dear  Zack  (to  speak  philosophically), 


INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE.  15 

that  this  machine  of  man  is  pulled  in  such  contrary  ways,  by  in- 
clinations and  appetites  setting  diversely,  that  it  shall  go  well 
with  him  if  he  he  not  altogether  balanced  into  a  pernicious  ec|uili- 
brium  of  absolute  rest.  1  had  a  great  account  to  run  up  against 
my  resolution.  Longsides  has  so  many  conveniences ;  and  the 
servants  have  fallen  so  well  into  my  habitudes ;  and  my  arm-chair 
had  such  an  essential  adaptation  to  my  felicity ;  and  even  my  ra- 
zors were  on  such  a  stationary  foundation — one  for  every  da}'-  of 
the  week — as  to  render  it  impossible  to  embark  them  on  a  journey; 
to  say  nothing  of  the  letters  to  write,  and  the  books  to  read,  and 
all  the  other  little  cares  that  make  up  the  sum  of  immobility  in  a 
man  who  does  not  care  much  about  seeing  the  world  ;  so  that,  in 
faith,  I  had  a  serious  matter  of  it.  And  then,  after  all,  I  was,  in 
fact,  plighted  to  my  sister  Louisa  to  go  with  her  up  the  river,  you 
know  where.  This,  between  you  and  me,  was  the  very  thing  that 
brought  down  the  beam.  That  futile,  nonsensical  flirtation  !  But 
for  this  fantastic  conceit  crossing  my  mind  with  the  bitterness  of 
its  folly,  I  should  indubitably  have  staid  at  home. 

There  are  some  junctures  in  love  and  war  both,  where  your 
lying  is  your  only  game ;  for  as  to  equivocating,  or  putting  the 
question  upon  an  if  or  a  hut^  it  is  a  downright  confession.  If  I 
had  refused  Ned's  summons,  not  a  whole  legion  of  devils  could 
have  driven  it  out  of  his  riveted  belief,  that  I  had  been  kept  at 
home  by  that  maggot  of  the  brain  which  he  called  a  love  affair. 
And  then  I  should  never  have  heard  the  end  of  it ! 

"  I'll  set  that  matter  right,  at  least,"  quoth  I,  as  I  folded  up 
his  letter.  "  Ned  has  reason,  too,"  said  I,  suddenly  struck  with 
the  novelty  of  the  proposed  journey,  which  began  to  show  in  a 
pleasant  light  upon  my  imagination,  as  things  are  apt  to  do,  when 
a  man  has  once  relieved  his  mind  from  a  state  of  doubt : — "  One 
ought  to  travel  before  he  makes  up  his  opinion :  there  are  two 
sides  to  every  question,  and  the  world  is  right  or  wrong ;  I'm 


16  INTRODUCTORY    EPISTLE. 

sure  I  don't  know  which.  Your  traveller  is  a  man  of  privileges 
and  authoritative,  and  looks  well  in  the  multitude  :  a  man  of  mark, 
and  authentic  as  a  witness.  And  as  for  the  Old  Dominion,  I'll 
warrant  me  it's  a  right  jolly  old  place,  with  a  good  many  years 
on  its  head  yet,  or  I  am  mistaken. — By  cock  and  pye,  I'll  go  and 
see  it . — What  ho  !  my  tablets," 

Behold  me  now  in  the  full  career  of  my  voyage  of  discovery, 
exploring  the  James  River  in  the  steamboat,  on  a  clear,  hot  fif- 
teenth of  June,  and  looking  with  a  sagacious  perspicacity  upon 
the  commonest  sights  of  this  terra  incognita.  I  gazed  upon  the 
receding  headlands  far  sternward,  and  then  upon  the  sedgy  banks 
where  the  cattle  were  standing  leg-deep  in  the  water  to  get  rid  of 
the  flies  :  and  ever  and  anon,  as  we  followed  the  sinuosities  of  the 
river,  some  sweeping  eminence  came  into  view,  and  on  the  crown 
thereof  was  seen  a  plain,  many-windowed  edifice  of  brick,  with  low 
wings,  old,  ample  and  stately,  looking  over  its  wide  and  sun-burnt 
domain  in  solitary  silence :  and  there  were  the  piny  promonto- 
ries, into  whose  shade  we  sometimes  glided  so  close  that  one  might 
have  almost  jumped  on  shore,  where  the  wave  struck  the  beach 
with  a  sullen  plash :  and  there  were  the  decayed  fences  jutting 
beyond  the  bank  into  the  water,  as  if  they  had  come  down  the  hill 
too  fast  to  stop  themselves.  All  these  things  struck  my  fancy  as 
peculiar  to  the  region. 

It  is  wonderful  to  think  how  much  more  distinct  arc  the  im- 
pressions of  a  man  who  travels  pen  in  hand,  than  those  of  a  mere 
business  voyager.  Even  the  crows,  as  we  sometimes  scared  them 
from  their  banquets  with  our  noisy  enginery,  seemed  to  have  a 
more  voluble,  and,  I  may  say,  eloquent  caw  here  in  Virginia,  than 
in  the  dialectic  climates  of  the  North.  You  would  have  laughed 
to  see  into  what  a  state  of  lady-like  rapture  I  had  worked  myself, 
in  my  eagerness  to  get  a  peep  at  Jamestown,  with  all  my  eflfer- 
vescence  of  romance  kindled  up  by  the  renown  of  the  unniatehablo 


INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE. 


17 


Smith.  The  steward  of  the  boat  poinied  it  out  when  we  had 
nearly  passed  it — and  lo  !  there  it  was — the  buttress  of  an  old 
steeple,  a  barren  fallow,  some  melancholy  heifers,  a  blasted  pine, 
and,  on  its  top,  a  desolate  hawk's  nest.  What  a  splendid  field  for 
the  fancy !  What  a  carte  blanche  for  a  painter  !  With  how 
many  things  might  this  little  spot  be  filled  ! 


What  time  bright  Phoebus — you  see  that  Jamestown  has 
made  me  poetical — had  thrown  the  reins  upon  his  horse's  neck, 
and  got  down  from  his  chafed  saddle  in  the  western  country,  like 
a  tired  mail-carrier,  our  boat  was  safely  moored  at  Rocket's,  and 
I  entered  Richmond  between  hawk  and  buzzard — the  very  best 
hour,  I  maintain,  out  of  the  twenty-four,  for  a  picturesque  tourist. 


18  INTRODUCTORY    EPISTLE. 

At  that  hour  nature  draws  her  pictures  en  silhoitette  :  every  thing 
jet  black  against  a  bright  horizon  ;  nothing  to  be  seen  but  profiles, 
with  all  the  shabby  fiUings-up  kept  dark.  Shockoe  Hill  was 
crested  with  what  seemed  palaces  embowered  in  groves  and  gar- 
dens of  richest  shade ;  the  chimneys  numberless,  like  minarets  ; 
and  the  Parthenon  of  Virginia,  on  its  appropriate  summit,  stood 
in  another  Acropolis,  tracing  its  broad  pediment  upon  the  sky  in 
exaggerated  lines.  There,  too,  was  the  rush  of  waters  tumbling 
around  enchanted  islands,  and  flashing  dimly  on  the  sight.  The 
hum  of  a  city  fell  upon  my  ear ;  the  streets  looked  long  and  the 
houses  high,  and  every  thing  brought  upon  my  mind  that  misty 
impression  which,  Burke  says,  is  an  ingredient  of  the  sublime, 
— and  which,  I  say,  every  stranger  feels  on  entering  a  city  at 
twilight. 

I  was  set  down  at  "  The  Union,"  where,  for  the  first  hour, 
being  intent  upon  my  creature  comforts,  my  time  passed  well 
enough.  The  abrupt  transition  from  long-continued  motion  to  a 
state  of  rest  makes  almost  every  man  sad,  exactly  as  sudden  speed 
makes  us  joyous ;  and  for  this  reason,  I  take  it,  your  traveller  in 
a  strange  place  is,  for  a  space  after  his  halt,  a  sullen,  if  not  a 
melancholy  animal.  The  proofs  of  this  were  all  around  me;  for 
here  was  I — not  an  unpractised  traveller  either — at  my  first  rest- 
ing place  after  four  days  of  accelerated  progression,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  in  Richmond,  in  a  large  hotel,  without  one  cog- 
nizable face  before  me  ;  full  of  excellent  feelings  without  a  power 
of  utterance.  What  would  I  have  given  for  thee,  or  Jones,  or 
even  long  Dick  Hardesty  !  In  that  ludicrous  conflict  between 
the  social  nature  of  the  man  and  his  outward  circumstances,  which 
every  light-hearted  voyager  feels  in  such  a  situation  as  mine,  I 
grew  desponding.  Talk  not  to  me  of  the  comfort  of  mine  own 
inn !  I  hold  it  a  thing  altogether  insufficient.  A  burlesque 
solitariness  sealed  up  the   fountains  of  speech,  of  the  crowd  who 


INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE,  19 

were  seatec.  at  the  supper-table  ;  and  the  same  uneasy  sensation 
of  pent-up  sympathies  was  to  be  seen  in  the  groups  that  peopled 
the  purlieus  of  the  hotel.  A  square  lamp  that  hung  midway  over 
the  hall,  was  just  lit  up,  and  a  few  insulated  beings  were  sauntering 
backward  and  forward  in  its  light :  some  loitered  in  pairs,  in  low 
and  reserved  conversation  ;  others  stalked  alone  in  incommuni- 
cable ruminations,  with  shaded  brows,  and  their  hands  behind 
their  backs.  One  or  two  stood  at  the  door  humming  familiar 
•catches  in  unconscious  medleys,  as  they  gazed  up  and  down  the 
street,  now  clamorous  with  the  din  of  carts  and  the  gossip  of 
serving-maids,  discordant  apprentice  boys  and  over-contented 
blacks.  Some  sat  on  the  pavement,  leaning  their  chairs  against 
the  wall,  and  puffing  segars  in  imperturbable  silence  :  all  compos- 
ing an  orderly  and  disconsolate  little  republic  of  humorsome 
spirits,  most  pitifully  out  of  tune. 

I  was  glad  to  take  refuge  in  an  idle  occupation ;  so  I  strolled 
about  the  city.  The  streets,  by  degrees,  grew  less  frequented. 
Family  parties  were  gathered  about  their  doors,  to  take  the  evening 
breeze.  The  moon  shone  bright  upon  some  bevies  of  active  chil- 
dren, who  played  at  racing  games  upon  the  pavements.  On  one 
side  of  the  street,  a  contumacious  clarionet  screamed  a  harsh 
bravado  to  a  thorough-going  violin,  which,  on  the  opposite  side,  in 
an  illuminated  barber-shop,  struggled  in  the  contortions  of  a 
Virginia  reel.  And,  at  intervals,  strutted  past  a  careering,  saucy 
negro,  with  marvellous  lips,  whistling  to  the  top  of  his  bent,  and 
throwing  into  shade  halloo  of  schoolboy,  scream  of  clarionet,  and 
screech  of  fiddle. 

Towards  midnight  a  thunder  gust  arose,  accompanied  with 
sharp  lightning,  and  the  morning  broke  upon  me  in  all  the  luxu- 
riance of  a  cool  and  del'cious  atmosphere.  You  must  know  that 
when  I  left  home,  my  purpose  w.\f  to  make  my  way  direct  to 
Swallow  Barn.     Now,  what  think  you  of  my  skill  as  a  traveller. 


*20  INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE. 

when  I  tell  you,  that  until  I  woke  in  Richmond  on  this  enchant- 
ing morning,  it  never  once  occurred  to  me  to  inquire  where  this 
same  Swallow  Barn  was  !  I  knew  that  it  was  in  Virginia,  and 
somewhere  about  the  James  River,  and  therefore  I  instinctively 
wandered  to  Richmond ;  but  now,  while  making  my  toilet,  my 
thoughts  being  naturally  bent  upon  my  next  movement,  it  very 
reasonably  occurred  to  me  that  I  must  have  passed  my  proper 
destination  the  day  before,  and,  full  of  this  thought,  I  found  my- 
self humming  the  line  from  an  old  song,  which  runs,  '•  Pray  what 
the  devil  brings  you  here  !"  The  communicative  and  obliging 
bar-keeper  of  the  Union  soon  put  me  right.  He  knew  Ned  Haz- 
ard as  a  frequent  visitor  of  Richmond,  and  his  advice  was,  that  I 
should  take  the  same  boat  in  which  I  came,  and  shape  my  course 
back  as  far  as  City  Point,  where  he  assured  me  that  I  might  find 
some  conveyance  to  Swallow  Barn,  which  lay  still  farther  down 
the  river,  and  that,  at  all  events,  "  go  where  I  would,  I  could  not 
go  wrong  in  Virginia."  What  think  you  of  that  ?  Now  I  hold  that 
to  be,  upon  personal  experience,  as  true  a  word  as  ever  was  set 
down  in  a  traveller's  breviary.  There  is  not  a  by-path  in  Virginia 
that  will  take  a  gentleman,  who  has  time  on  his  hands,  in  a  wrong 
direction.  This  I  say  in  honest  compliment  to  a  state  which  is 
full  to  the  brim  of  right  good  fellows. 

The  boat  was  not  to  return  for  two  days,  and  I  therefore 
employed  the  interval  in  looking  about  the  city.  Don't  be  fright- 
ened ! — for  I  neither  visited  hospitals,  nor  schools,  nor  libraries, 
and  therefore  will  not  play  the  tourist  with  you:  but  if  you  wish 
to  see  a  beautiful  little  city,  built  up  of  rich  and  tasteful  villas,  and 
embellished  with  all  the  varieties  of  town  and  country,  scattered 
with  a  refined  and  exquisite  skill — come  and  look  at  Shockoe  Hill 
in  the  month  of  June. — You  may  believe,  then,  I  did  not  regret 
my  aberration. 

At  the  appointed  day  T  ro-cmbarkcd.  and  in  ilup  time  was  put 


INTRODUCTORY'     EPlSTLi:.  21 

down  ah  City  Point.  Here  some  further  delay  awaited  nie 
This  is  not  the  Land  of  hackney  coaches,  and  I  found  myself 
somewhat  embarrassed  in  procuring  an  onward  conveyance.  At 
a  small  house  to  which  I  was  conducted,  I  made  my  wishes  known, 
and  the  proprietor  kindly  volunteered  his  services  to  set  me  for- 
ward. It  was  a  matter  of  some  consideration.  The  day  was 
well  advanced,  and  it  was  as  much  as  could  be  done  to  reach  Swal- 
low Barn  that  night.  An  equipage,  however,  was  at  last  procured 
for  me,  and  off  I  went.  You  would  have  laughed  "  sans  intermis- 
sion" a  good  hour  if  you  had  seen  me  upon  the  road.  I  was  set  up 
n  an  old  sulky,  of  a  dingy  hue,  without  springs,  with  its  body  sunk 
between  a  pair  of  unusually  high  wheels.  It  was  drawn  by  an 
asthmatic,  superannuated  racer  with  a  huge  Roman  nose  and  a  most 
sorrowful  countenance.  His  sides  were  piteously  scalded  with 
the  traces,  and  his  harness,  partly  of  rope  and  partly  of  leather 
thongs,  corresponded  with  the  sobriety  of  his  character.  He  had 
fine  long  legs,  however,  and  got  over  the  ground  with  surprising 
alacrity.  At  a  most  respectful  distance  behind  me  trotted  the 
most  venerable  of  outriders — an  old  free  negro,  formerly  a  retain- 
er in  some  of  the  feudal  establishments  of  the  low  countries.  His 
name  was  Scipio.  His  face,  which  was  principally  composed  of  a 
pair  of  protuberant  lips,  whose  luxuriance  seemed  intended  as 
an  indemnity  for  a  pair  of  crushed  nostrils,  was  well  set  off 
with  a  head  of  silver  wool  that  bespoke  a  volume  of  gravity. 
He  had,  from  some  aristocratic  conceit  of  elegance,  indued  him- 
self for  my  service  in  a  ragged  regimental  coat,  still  jagged  with 
some  points  of  tarnished  scarlet,  and  a  pair  of  coarse  linen  trow- 
sers,  barely  reaching  the  ankles,  beneath  which  two  bony  feet 
occupied  shoes,  each  of  the  superficies  and  figure  of  a  hoe,  and  on 
one  of  these  was  w^iimsically  buckled  a  rusty  spur.  His  horse 
was  a  short,  thick-set  pony,  with  an  amazingly  rough  trot, 
which  kept  Scipio's  legs  in  a  state  of  constant  warfare  against  the 


22  INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE. 

animal's  sides,  whilst  the  old  fellow  bounced  up  and  down  in  his 
saddle  with  the  ambitious  ostentation  of  a  groom  in  the  vigor  of 
manhood,  and  proud  of  his  horsemanship. 

Scipio  frequently  succeeded,  by  dint  of  hard  spurring,  to  get 
close  enough  to  me  to  open  a  conversation,  which  he  conducted 
with  such  a  deferential  courtesy  and  formal  politeness,  as  greatly 
to  enhance  my  opinion  of  his  breeding.  His  face  was  lighted  up 
with  a  lambent  smile,  and  he  touched  his  hat  with  an  antique 
grace  at  every  accost ;  the  tone  of  his  voice  was  mild  and  subdued, 
and  in  short,  Scipio  had  all  the  unction  of  an  old  gentleman.  He 
had  a  great  deal  to  say  of  the  "  palmy  days"  of  Virginia,  and  the 
generations  which  in  his  time  had  been  broken  up,  or,  what  in  his 
conception  was  equivalent,  had  gone  "  over  the  mountain." 
He  expatiated  with  a  wonderful  relish  upon  the  splendors  of  the 
old-fashioned  style  in  that  part  of  the  country  ;  and  told  me  very 
pathetically,  how  the  estates  were  cut  up,  and  what  old  people  had 
died  off,  and  how  much  he  felt  himself  alone  in  the  present  times, 
— which  particulars  he  interlarded  with  sundry  sage  remarks,  im- 
porting an  affectionate  attachment  to  the  old  school,  of  which 
he  considered  himself  no  unworthy  survivor.  He  concluded 
these  disquisitions  with  a  reflection  that  amused  me  by  its  pro- 
fundity— and  which  doubtless  he  had  picked  up  from  some  popular 
orator :  "  When  they  change  the  circumstance,  they  alter  the 
case."  My  expression  of  assent  to  this  aphorism  awoke  all  his  van- 
ity,— for  after  ponderjng  a  moment  upon  it,  he  shook  his  head 
archly  as  he  added, — "  People  think  old  Scipio  a  fool,  because 
he's  got  sense," — and,  thereupon,  the  old  follow  laughed  till  the 
tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

In  this  kind  of  colloquy  we  made  some  twenty  miles  before  the 
shades  of  evening  overtook  us,  and  Scipio  now  informed  me  that 
we  might  soon  expect  to  reach  Swallow  Barn.  The  road  was 
smooth  and  canopied  with  dark  foliage,  and,  as  the  last  blush  of 


INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE.  23 

twilight  faded  away,  we  swept  rapidly  round  the  head  of  a  swamp 
where  a  thousand  frogs  were  celebrating  their  vespers,  and  soon 
after  reached  the  gate  of  the  court-yard.  Lights  were  glimmering 
through  diflferent  apertures,  and  several  stacks  of  chimneys  were 
visible  above  the  horizon ;  the  whole  mass  being  magnified  into 
the  dimensions  of  a  great  castle.  Some  half-dozen  dogs  bounding 
to  the  gate,  brought  a  host  of  servants  to  receive  me,  as  I  alighted 
at  the  door. 

Cousins  count  in  Virginia,  and  have  great  privileges.  Here 
was  I  in  the  midst  of  a  host  of  them.  Frank  Meriwether  met  me  as 
cordially  as  if  we  had  spent  our  whole  lives  together,  and  my  cousin 
Lucretia,  his  wife,  came  up  and  kissed  me  in  the  genuine  coun- 
try fashion.  Of  course,  I  repeated  the  ceremony  towards  all  the 
female  branches  that  fell  in  my  way.  and,  by  the  by,  the  girls  are 
pretty  enough  to  make  the  ceremony  interesting,  although  I 
think  they  consider  me  somewhat  oldish.  As  to  Ned  Hazard, 
I  need  not  tell  you  he  is  the  quintessence  of  good  humor,  and 
received  me  with  that  famous  hearty  honesty  of  his,  which  you 
would  have  predicted. 

At  the  moment  of  my  arrival,  a  part  of  the  family  were  strewed 
over  the  steps  of  a  little  porch  at  the  front  door,  basking  in  the 
moonlight ;  and  before  them  a  troop  of  children,  white  and  black, 
trundled  hoops  across  the  court-yard,  followed  by  a  pack  of  com- 
panionable curs,  who  seemed  to  have  a  part  of  the  game ;  whilst  a 
piano  within  the  house  served  as  an  orchestra  to  the  players.  My 
arrival  produced  a  sensation  that  stopped  all  this,  and  I  was  hur- 
ried by  a  kind  of  tumultuary  welcome  into  the  parlor. 

If  you  have  the  patience  to  read  this  long  epistle  to  the  end, 
I  would  like  to  give  you  a  picture  of  the  family  as  it  appeared  to 
me  that  night ;  but  if  you  are  already  fatigued  with  my  gossip,  as 
I  have  good  reason  to  fear,  why  you  may  e'en  skip  this,  and  go 
about  your  more  important  duties.     But  it  is  not  often  you  may 


24  1NTRODUCTOR.Y     EPISTLE. 

meet  such  scenes,  and  as  thej  produce  some  kindly  impressions 
I  think  it  worth  while  to  note  this. 

The  parlor  was  one  of  those  specimens  of  architecture  of  which 
there  are  not  many  survivors,  and  in  another  half  century,  they 
will,  perhaps,  be  extinct.  The  walls  were  of  panelled  wood,  of  a 
greenish  white,  with  small  windows  seated  in  deep  embrasures,  and 
the  mantel  was  high,  embellished  with  heavy  mouldings  that  ex- 
tended up  to  the  cornice  of  the  room,  in  a  figure  resembling  a 
square  fortified  according  to  Yauban.  In  one  corner  stood  a  tall 
triangular  cupboard,  and  opposite  to  it  a  clock  equally  tall,  with  a 
healthy,  saucy-faced  full  moon  peering  above  the  dial-plate.  A 
broad  sofa  ranged  along  the  wall,  and  was  kept  in  countenance  by 
a  legion  of  leather-bottomed  chairs,  which  sprawled  their  bandy  legs 
to  a  perilous  compass,  like  a  high  Dutch  skater  squaring  the  yard. 
A  huge  table  occupied  the  middle  of  the  room,  whereon  reposed  a 
service  of  stately  china,  and  a  dozen  covers  flanking  some  lodg- 
ments of  sweetmeats,  and  divers  curiously  wrought  pyramids  of 
butter  tottering  on  pedestals  of  ice.  In  the  midst  of  this  array, 
like  a  lordly  fortress,  was  placed  an  immense  bowl  of  milk,  sur- 
rounded by  sundry  silver  goblets,  reflecting  their  images  on  the 
polished  board,  as  so  many  El  Dorados  in  a  fairy  Archipelago. 
An  uncarpeted  floor  glistened  with  a  dim,  but  spotless  lustre,  in 
token  of  careful  housekeeping,  and  around  the  walls  were  hung, 
in  grotesque  frames,  some  time-worn  portraits,  protruding  their 
pale  faces  through  thickets  of  priggish  curls. 

The  sounding  of  a  bell  was  the  signal  for  our  evening  repast. 
My  cousin  Lucretia  had  already  taken  the  seat  of  worship  behind 
a  steaming  urn  and  a  strutting  coflfee-pot  of  chased  silver,  that 
had  the  air  of  a  cock  about  to  crow, — it  was  so  erect.  A  little 
rosy  gentleman,  the  reverend  Mr.  Chub,  [a  tutor  in  the  family,) 
said  a  hasty  and  half-smothered  grace,  and  then  we  all  arranged 
ourselves  at  the  table.     An  aged  dame  in  spectacles,  with  the 


INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE.  25 

maimerly  silence  of  a  dependent,  placed  herself  in  a  post  at  the 
board,  that  enabled  her  to  hold  in  check  some  little  moppets  who 
were  perched  on  high  chairs,  with  bibs  under  their  chins,  and  two 
barefooted  bo3's  who  had  just  burst  into  the  room  overheated 
with  play.  A  vacant  scat  remained,  which,  after  a  few  moments, 
was  occupied  by  a  tall  spinster,  with  a  sentimental  mien,  who 
glided  into  the  parlor  with  some  stir.  She  was  another  cousin, 
Zachary,  according  to  the  Virginia  rule  of  consanguinity,  who 
was  introduced  to  me  as  Miss  Prudence  Meriwether,  a  sister  of 
Frank's, — and  as  for  her  age. — that's  neither  here  nor  there. 

The  evening  went  off,  as  you  might  guess,  with  abundance  of 
good  feeling  and  unaffected  enjoyment.  The  ladies  soon  fell  into 
their  domestic  occupations,  and  the  parson  smoked  his  pipe  in 
silence  at  the  window.  The  young  progeny  teased  '•  uncle  Ned" 
with  importunate  questions,  or  played  at  bo-peep  at  the  parlor 
door,  casting  sly  looks  at  me,  from  whence  they  slipt  off,  with  a 
laugh,  whenever  they  caught  my  eye.  At  last,  growing  tired,  they 
rushed  with  one  accord  upon  Hazard,  flinging  themselves  across 
his  knees,  pulling  his  skirts,  or  clambering  over  the  back  of  his 
chair,  until,  worn  out  by  sport,  they  dropped  successively  upon  the 
floor,  in  such  childish  slumber,  that  not  even  their  nurses  woke 
them  when  they  were  picked  up,  like  sacks,  and  carried  off  to  bed 
upon  the  shoulders. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  rest  of  us  followed,  and  I  found 
myself  luxuriating  in  a  comfortable  bed  which  would  have  accom- 
modated a  platoon.  Here,  listening  to  the  tree-frog  and  the  owl, 
I  dropped  into  a  profound  slumber,  and  knew  nothing  more  of 
this  under  world,  until  the  sun  shining  through  my  window,  and 
the  voluble  note  of  the  mocking-bird,  recalled  me  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  nature  and  the  morning  breeze. 

So,  you  have  all  my  adventures  up  to  the  moment  of  my  arri- 
val.    And  as  I  have  set  out  with  a  premeditated  purpose  to  regis- 

2 


26  INTRODUCTORY     EPISTLE. 

ter  what  I  see  and  hear — an  inky  and  therefore  a  black  intent, 
say  you — you  shall  hear  from  me  again  presently :  but  whether 
in  some  descriptive  pictures  of  this  old  dominion,  or  in  dramatic 
sketches,  or  in  a  journal,  or  in  some  rambling  letters,  I  cannot 
yet  foretell.  I  shall  wait  upon  my  occasions.  Perhaps  I  shall 
give  you  something  compounded  of  all  these.  And  if  a  book  be 
the  upshot — ^who's  afraid?  You  may  read  or  let  it  alone,  as  you 
please.     "  That's  the  humor  of  it " — as  Nym  says. 

It  may  be  some  time  before  we  meet ;  till  then,  I  wear  you  in 
my  heart. 

Mark  Littleton. 
Swallow  Barn^  June  20,  1829. 


CHAPTER  I. 


SWALLOW    BARN, 


Swallow  Barn  is  an  aristocratical  old  edifice  which  sits,  like  a 
brooding  hen,  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  James  River.  It 
looks  down  upon  a  shady  pocket  or  nook,  formed  by  an  indenta- 
tion of  the  shore,  from  a  gentle  acclivity  thinly  sprinkled  with 
oaks  whose  magnificent  branches  afibrd  habitation  to  sundry 
friendly  colonies  of  squirrels  and  woodpeckers. 

This  time-honored  mansion  was  the  residence  of  the  family  of 
Hazards.  But  in  the  present  generation,  the  spells  of  love  and 
mortgage  have  translated  the  possession  to  Frank  Meriwether, 
who  having  married  Lucretia,  the  eldest  daughter  of  my  late 
Uncle  Walter  Hazard,  and  lifted  some  gentlemanlike  incumbran- 
ces which  had  been  sleeping  for  years  upon  the  domain,  was  thus 
inducted  into  the  proprietary  rights.  The  adjacency  of  his  own 
estate  gave  a  territorial  feature  to  this  alliance,  of  which  the  fruits 
were  no  less  discernible  in  the  multiplication  of  negroes,  cattle, 
and  poultry,  than  in  a  flourishing  clan  of  Meriwethers. 

The  main  building  is  more  than  a  century  old.  It  is  built 
with  thick  brick  walls,  but  one  story  in  height,  and  surmounted 
by  a  double-faced  or  hipped  roof,  which  gives  the  idea  of  a  ship 
bottom  upwards.  Later  buildings  have  been  added  to  this,  as 
the  wants  or  ambition  of  the  family  have  expanded.     These  are 


28  SWALLOW     BARN. 

all  constructed  of  wood,  and  seem  to  have  been  built  in  defiance  of 
all  laws  of  congruity.  just  as  convenience  required.  But  they  form 
altogether  an  agreeable  picture  of  habitation,  suggesting  the  idea 
of  comfort  in  the  ample  space  they  fill,  and  in  their  conspicuous 
adaptation  to  domestic  uses. 

The  hall  door  is  an  ancient  piece  of  walnut,  which  has  grown 
too  heavy  for  its  hinges,  and  by  its  daily  travel  has  furrowed  the 
floor  in  a  quadrant,  over  which  it  has  an  uneasy  journey.  It  is 
shaded  by  a  narrow  porch,  with  a  carved  pediment  upheld  by  mas- 
sive columns  of  wood,  somewhat  split  by  the  sun.  An  ample 
court-yard,  inclosed  by  a  semi-circular  paling,  extends  in  front  of 
the  whole  pile,  and  is  traversed  by  a  gravel  road  leading  from  a 
rather  ostentatious  iron  gate,  which  is  swung  between  two  pillars 
of  brick  surmounted  by  globes  of  cut  stone.  Between  the  gate 
and  the  house  a  large  willow  spreads  its  arched  and  pendent  dra- 
pery over  the  grass.  A  bridle  rack  stands  within  the  inclosurc, 
and  near  it  a  ragged  horse-nibbled  plum-tree — the  current  belief 
being  that  a  plum-tree  thrives  on  ill  usage — casts  its  skeleton 
shadow  on  the  dust. 

Some  Lombardy  poplars,  springing  above  a  mass  of  shrubbery, 
partially  screen  various  supernumerary  buildings  at  a  short  dis- 
tance in  the  rear  of  the  mansion.  Amongst  these  is  to  bo  seen 
the  gable  end  of  a  stable,  with  the  date  of  its  erection  stiffly  em- 
blazoned in  black  bricks  near  the  upper  angle,  in  figures  set  in 
after  the  fashion  of  the  work  on  a  girl's  sampler.  In  the  same 
quarter  a  pigeon-box,  reared  on  a  post  and  resembling  a  huge 
tee-totum,  is  visible,  and  about  its  several  doors  and  windows  a 
family  of  pragmatical  pigeons  are  generally  strutting,  bridling, 
and  bragging  at  each  other  from  sunrise  until  dark. 

Appendant  to  this  homestead  is  an  extensive  tract  of  land 
which  stretches  some  three  or  four  miles  along  the  river,  present- 
ing alternately  abrupt  promontories  mantled  with  pine  and  dwarf 


SWALLOW    BARN.  29 

oak,  and  small  inlets  terminating  in  swamps.  Some  sparse  por- 
tions of  forest  vary  the  landscape,  which,  for  the  most  part,  ex- 
hibits a  succession  of  fields  clothed  with  Indian  corn,  some  small 
patches  of  cotton  or  tobacco  plants,  with  the  usual  varieties  of 
stubble  and  fallow  grounds.  These  are  inclosed  by  worm  fences 
of  shrunken  chestnut,  where  lizards  and  ground-squirrels  are  per- 
petually running  races  along  the  rails. 

A  few  hundred  steps  from  the  mansion,  a  brook  glides  at  a 
snail's  pace  towards  the  river,  holding  its  course  through  a  wilder- 
ness of  laurel  and  alder,  and  creeping  around  islets  covered  with 
green  mosses.  Across  this  stream  is  thrown  a  rough  bridge, 
which  it  would  delight  a  painter  to  see ;  and  not  far  below  it  an 
aged  sycamore  twists  its  roots  into  a  grotesque  framework  to  the 
pure  mirror  of  a  spring,  which  wells  up  its  cool  waters  from  a  bed 
of  gravel  and  runs  gurgling  to  the  brook.  There  it  aids  in  fur- 
nishing a  cruising  ground  to  a  squadron  of  ducks  who,  in  defiance 
of  all  nautical  propriety,  are  incessantly  turning  up  their  sterns 
to  the  skies.  On  the  grass  which  skirts  the  margin  of  the  spring, 
I  observe  the  family  linen  is  usually  spread  out  by  some  three 
or  four  negro  women,  who  chant  shrill  music  over  their  wash-tubs, 
and  seem  to  live  in  ceaseless  warfare  with  sundry  little  besmirched 
and  bow-legged  blacks,  who  are  never  tired  of  making  somersets, 
and  mischievously  pushing  each  other  on  the  clothes  laid  down 
to  dry. 

Beyond  the  bridge,  at  some  distance,  stands  a  prominent  ob- 
ject in  the  perspective  of  this  picture, — the  most  venerable  appen- 
dage to  the  establishment — a  huge  barn  with  an  immense  roof 
hanging  almost  to  the  ground,  and  thatched  a  foot  thick  with  sun- 
burnt straw,  which  reaches  below  the  eaves  in  ragged  flakes.  It 
has  a  singularly  drowsy  and  decrepit  aspect.  The  yard  around 
it  is  strewed  knee-deep  with  litter,  from  the  midst  of  which  arises 
a  long  rack   resembling  a  chevaux  de  frise,  which   is   ordinarily 


;o 


SWALLOW     BARN. 


filled  with  fodder.  This  is  the  customary  lounge  of  half  a  score 
of  oxen  and  as  many  cows,  who  sustain  an  imperturbable  com- 
panionship with  a  sickly  wagon,  whose  parched  tongue  and  droop- 
ing swingle-trees,  as  it  stands  in  the  sun,  give  it  a  most  forlorn 
and  invalid  character ;  whilst  some  sociable  carts  under  the  sheds, 
with  their  shafts  perched  against  the  walls,  suggest  the  idea  of  a 
set  of  gossiping  cronies  taking  their  ease  in  a  tavern  porch. 
Now  and  then  a  clownish  hobble-de-hoy  colt,  with  long  fetlocks 
and  disordered  mane,  and  a  thousand  burs  in  his  tail,  stalks 
through  this  company.  But  as  it  is  forbidden  ground  to  all  his 
tribe,  he  is  likely  very  soon  to  encounter  a  shower  of  corn-cobs 
from  some  of  the  negro  men  :  upon  which  contingency  he  makes 
a  rapid  retreat  across  the  bars  which  imperfectly  guard  the  en- 
trance to  the  yard,  and  with  an  uncouth  display  of  his  heels 
bounds  away  towards  the  brook,  where  he  stops  and  looks  back 
with  a  saucy  defiance :  and  after  affecting  to  drink  for  a  noment, 
gallops  away  with  a  braggart  whinny  to  the  fields. 


CHAPTER  11. 

A     COUNTRY     GENTLEMAN. 

The  master  of  this  lordly  domain  is  Frank  Meriwether.  He  is 
now  in  the  meridian  of  life — somewhere  about  forty-five.  Good 
cheer  and  an  easy  temper  tell  well  upon  him.  The  first  has  given 
him  a  comfortable,  portly  figure,  and  the  latter  a  contemplative 
turn  of  mind,  which  inclines  him  to  be  lazy  and  philosophical. 

He  has  some  right  to  pride  himself  on  his  personal  appear- 
ance, for  he  has  a  handsome  face,  with  a  dark  blue  eye  and  a  fine 
intellectual  brow.  His  head  is  growing  scant  of  hair  on  the 
crown,  which  induces  him  to  be  somewhat  particular  in  the  man- 
agement of  his  locks  in  that  locality,  and  these  are  assuming  a 
decided  silvery  hue. 

It  is  pleasant  to  see  him  when  he  is  going  to  ride  to  the  Court 
House  on  business  occasions.  He  is  then  apt  to  make  his  ap- 
pearance in  a  coat  of  blue  broadcloth,  astonishingly  glossy,  and 
with  an  unusual  amount  of  plaited  ruffle  strutting  through  the 
folds  of  a  Marseilles  waistcoat.  A  worshipful  finish  is  given  to 
this  costume  by  a  large  straw  hat,  lined  with  green  silk.  There 
is  a  magisterial  fulness  in  his  garments  which  betokens  condition 
in  the  world,  and  a  heavy  bunch  of  seals,  suspended  by  a  chain 
of  gold,  jingles  as  he  moves,  pronouncing  him  a  man  of  superflui- 
ties. 


32  A     COUNTRY     GENTLEMAN. 

It  is  considered  rather  extraordinary  that  he  has  never  set  up 
for  Congress  :  but  the  truth  is,  he  is  an  unambitious  man,  and 
has  a  great  dislike  to  currying  favor — as  he  calls  it.  And.  be- 
sides, he  is  thoroughly  convinced  that  there  will  always  be  men 
enough  in  Virginia  willing  to  serve  the  people,  and  therefore 
does  not  see  why  he  should  trouble  his  head  about  it.  Some 
years  ago,  however,  there  was  really  an  impression  that  he  meant 
to  come  out.  By  some  sudden  whim,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to 
visit  Washington  during  the  session  of  Congress,  and  returned, 
after  a  fortnight,  very  seriously  distempered  with  politics.  He 
told  curious  anecdotes  of  certain  secret  intrigues  which  had  been 
discovered  in  the  affairs  of  the  capital,  gave  a  clear  insight  into 
the  views  of  some  deep-laid  combinations,  and  became,  all  at 
once,  painfully  florid  in  his  discourse,  and  dogmatical  to  a  degree 
that  made  his  wife  stare.  Fortunately,  this  orgasm  "Soon  sub- 
sided, and  Frank  relapsed  into  an  indolent  gentleman  of  the  op' 
position  ;  but  it  had  the  effect  to  give  a  much  more  defided  cast 
to  his  studies,  for  he  forthwith  discarded  the  "  Richmond  Whig  " 
from  his  newspaper  subscription,  and  took  to  "  The  Enquirer," 
like  a  man  who  was  not  to  be  disturbed  by  doubts.  And  as  it 
was  morally  impossible  to  believe  all  that  was  written  on  both 
sides,  to  prevent  his  mind  from  being  abused,  he  from  this  time 
forward  took  a  stand  against  the  re-election  of  Mr.  Adams  to  the 
Presidency,  and  resolved  to  give  an  implicit  faith  to  all  alleged 
facts  which  set  against  his  administration.  The  consequence  of 
this  straight-forward  and  confiding  deportment  was  an  unexpected 
complimentary  notice  of  him  by  the  Executive  of  the  State.  He 
was  put  into  the  commission  of  the  peace,  and  having  thus  be- 
come a  public  man  against  his  will,  his  opinions  were  observed  to 
undergo  some  essential  changes.  He  now  thinks  that  a  good 
citizen  ought  neither  to  solicit  nor  decline  office ;  that  the  magis- 
tracy of  Virginia  is  the  sturdiest  pillar  which  supports  the  fabric 


A    COUNTRY     GENTLEMAN.  S3 

of  the  Constitution  ;  and  that  the  people,  "  though  in  their  opin- 
ions they  may  be  mistaken,  in  their  sentiments  they  are  never 
wrong  ;" — with  some  such  other  dogmas  as,  a  few  years  ago,  he 
did  not  hold  in  very  good  repute.  In  this  temper,  he  has  of  late 
embarked  on  the  millpond  of  county  affairs,  and  nothwithstand- 
ing  his  amiable  character  and  his  doctrinary  republicanism.  I  am 
told  he  keeps  the  peace  as  if  he  commanded  a  garrison,  and  ad- 
ministers justice  like  a  Cadi. 

He  has  some  claim  to  supremacy  in  this  last  department ;  for 
during  three  years  he  smoked  segars  in  a  lawyer's  office  in  Rich- 
mond, which  enabled  him  to  obtain  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Black- 
stone  and  the  Revised  Code.  Besides  this,  he  was  a  member  of 
a  Law  Debating  Society,  which  ate  oysters  once  a  week  in  a  cel- 
lar ;  and  he  wore,  in  accordance  with  the  usage  of  the  most  prom- 
ising law  students  of  that  day,  six  cravats,  one  over  the  other,  and 
yellow-topped  boots,  by  which  he  was  recognized  as  a  blood  of  the 
metropolis.  Having  in  this  way  qualified  himself  to  assert  and 
maintain  his  rights,  he  came  to  his  estate,  upon  his  arrival  at  age, 
a  very  model  of  landed  gentlemen.  Since  that  time  his  avoca- 
tions have  had  a  certain  literary  tincture ;  for  having  settled  him- 
self down  as  a  married  man,  and  got  rid  of  his  superfluous  fop- 
pery, he  rambled  with  wonderful  assiduity  through  a  wilderness' 
of  romances,  poems,  and  dissertations,  which  are  now  collected  in 
his  library,  and,  with  their  battered  blue  covers,  present  a  lively 
type  of  an  army  of  continentals  at  the  close  of  the  war,  or  a  hos- 
pital of  invalids.  These  have  all,  at  last,  given  way  to  the  news- 
papers— a  miscellaneous  study  very  attractive  and  engrossing  to 
country  gentlemen.  This  line  of  study  has  rendered  Meriwether 
a  most  perilous  antagonist  in  the  matter  of  legislative  proceed- 
ings. 

A  landed  proprietor,  with  a  good  house  and  a  host  of  servants. 

is  naturally  a  hospitable  man.     A  guest  is  one  of  his  daily  wants 

2* 


34  A    COUNTRY     GENTLEMAN. 

A  friendly  face  is  a  necessary  of  life,  without  wliicli  the  heart  is 
apt  to  starve,  or  a  luxury  without  which  it  grows  parsimonious. 
Men  who  are  isolated  from  society  by  distance,  feel  these  wants 
by  an  instinct,  and  are  grateful  for  the  opportunity  to  relieve 
them.  In  Meriwether,  the  sentiment  goes  beyond  this.  It  has, 
besides,  something  dialectic  in  it.  His  house  is  open  to  every 
body,  as  freely  almost  as  an  inn.  But  to  see  him  when  he  has 
had  the  good  fortune  to  pick  up  an  intelligent,  educated  gentle- 
man,— and  particularly  one  who  listens  well ! — a  respectable, 
assentatious  stranger ! — All  the  better  if  he  has  been  in  the  Le- 
gislature, or  better  still,  if  in  Congress.  Such  a  person  caught 
within  the  purlieus  of  Swallow  Barn,  may  set  down  one  week's 
entertainment  as  certain — ^inevitable,  and  as  many  more  as  he 
likes — the  more  the  merrier.  He  will  know  something  of  the 
quality  of  Meriwether's  rhetoric  before  he  is  gone. 

Then  again,  it  is  very  pleasant  to  see  Frank's  kind  and  con- 
siderate be&ring  towards  his  servants  and  dependents.  His 
slaves  appreciate  this,  and  hold  him  in  most  affectionate  reverence, 
and,  theref  )re,  are  not  only  contented,  but  happy  under  his  do- 
minion. 

Meriwether  is  not  much  of  a  traveller.  He  has  never  been 
in  New  England,  and  very  seldom  beyond  the  confines  of  Vir- 
ginia. He  makes  now  and  then  a  winter  excursion  to  Richmond, 
which,  I  rather  think,  he  considers  as  the  centre  of  civilization  \ 
and  towards  autumn,  it  is  his  custom  to  journey  over  the  moun- 
tain to  the  Springs,  which  he  is  obliged  to  do  to  avoid  the  un- 
healthy season  in  the  tide-water  region.  But  the  upper  country 
is  not  much  to  his  taste,  and  would  not  be  endured  by  him  if  it 
were  not  for  the  crowds  that  resort  there  for  the  same  reason 
which  operates  upon  liim  ;  and  I  may  add, — though  he  would  not 
confess  it —for  the  opportunity  this  concourse  affords  him  for  dis- 
cussion of  opinions. 


A    COUNTRY     GENTLEMAN.  35 

He  thinks  lightly  of  the  mercantile  interest,  and,  in  fact,  un- 
dervalues the  manners  of  the  large  cities  generally.  He  believes 
that  those  who  live  in  them  are  hollow-hearted  and  insincere,  and 
wanting  in  that  substantial  intelligence  and  virtue,  which  he 
affirms  to  be  characteristic  of  the  country.  He  is  an  ardent 
admirer  of  the  genius  of  Virginia,  and  is  frequent  in  his  commen- 
dation of  a  toast  in  which  the  state  is  compared  to  the  mother  of 
the  Gracchi : — indeed,  it  is  a  familiar  thing  with  him  to  speak  of 
the  aristocracy  of  talent  as  only  inferior  to  that  of  the  landed  in- 
terest,— the  idea  of  a  freeholder  inferring  to  his  mind  a  certain 
constitutional  pre-eminence  in  all  the  virtues  of  citizenship,  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

The  solitary  elevation  of  a  country  gentleman,  well  to  do  in 
the  world,  begets  some  magnificent  notions.  He  becomes  as  in- 
fallible as  the  Pope ;  gradually  acquires  a  habit  of  making  long 
speeches  ;  is  apt  to  be  impatient  of  contradiction,  and  is  always 
very  touchy  on  the  point  of  honor.  There  is  nothing  more  con- 
clusive than  a  rich  man's  logic  any  where,  but  in  the  country, 
amongst  his  dependents,  it  flows  with  the  smooth  and  unresisted 
course  of  a  full  stream  irrigating  a  meadow,  and  depositing  its 
mud  in  fertilizing  luxuriance.  Meriwether's  sayings,  about  Swal- 
low Barn,  import  absolute  verity.  But  I  have  discovered  that 
they  are  not  so  current  out  of  his  jurisdiction.  Indeed,  every 
now  and  then,  we  have  quite  obstinate  discussions  when  some  of 
the  neighboring  potentates,  who  stand  in  the  same  sphere  with 
Frank,  come  to  the  house ;  for  these  worthies  have  opinions  of 
their  own,  and  nothing  can  be  more  dogged  than  the  conflict  be- 
tween them.  They  sometimes  fire  away  at  each  other  with  a  most 
amiable  and  unconvinceable  hardihood  for  a  whole  evening,  ban- 
dying interjections,  and  making  bows,  and  saying  shrewd  things 
with  all  the  courtesy  imaginable.  But  for  unextinguishable  per- 
tinacity in  argument,  and  utter  impregnability  of  belief,  there  is 


36  A     COUNTRY     GENTLEMAN. 

no  disputant  like  your  country-gentleman  who  reads  the  news- 
papers. When  one  of  these  discussions  fairly  gets  under  weigh, 
it  never  comes  to  an  anchor  again  of  its  own  accord  : — it  is  either 
blown  out  so  far  to  sea  as  to  be  given  up  for  lost,  or  puts  into 
port  in  distress  for  want  of  documents, — or  is  upset  by  a  call  for 
the  boot-jack  and  slippers — which  is  something  like  the  previous 
f[uestion  in  Congress. 

If  my  worthy  cousin  be  somewhat  over-argumentative  as  a 
politician,  he  restores  the  equilibrium  of  his  character  by  a  con- 
siderate coolness  in  religious  matters.  He  piques  himself  upon 
being  a  high-churchman,  but  is  not  the  most  diligent  frequenter 
of  places  of  worship,  and  very  seldom  permits  himself  to  get  into 
a  dispute  upon  points  of  faith.  If  Mr.  Chub,  the  Presbyterian 
tutor  in  the  family,  ever  succeeds  in  drawing  him  into  this  field, 
as  he  occasionally  has  the  address  to  do,  Meriwether  is  sure  to  fly 
the  course ;  he  gets  puzzled  with  scripture  names,  and  makes 
some  odd  mistakes  between  Peter  and  Paul,  and  then  generally 
turns  the  parson  over  to  his  wife,  who,  he  says,  has  an  astonishing 
memory. 

He  is  somewhat  distinguished  as  a  breeder  of  blooded  horses  ; 
and,  ever  since  the  celebrated  race  between  Eclipse  and  Henry, 
has  taken  to  this  occupation  with  a  renewed  zeal,  as  a  matter 
affecting  the  reputation  of  the  state.  It  is  delightful  to  hear  him 
expatiate  upon  the  value,  importance,  and  patriotic  bearing  of 
this  employment,  and  to  listen  to  all  his  technical  lore  touching 
the  mystery  of  horse-craft.  He  has  some  fine  colts  in  training, 
which  are  committed  to  the  care  of  a  pragmatical  old  negro,  named 
Carey,  who,  in  his  reverence  for  the  occupation,  is  the  perfect 
shadow  of  his  master.  He  and  Frank  hold  grave  and  momentous 
consultations  upon  the  affairs  of  the  stable,  in  such  a  sagacious 
strain  of  equal  debate,  that  it  would  puzzle  a  spectator  to  tell 
which  was  the  leading  member  in  the  council.     Carey  thinks  he 


A     COUNTRY     GENTLEMAN.  37 

knows  a  great  deal  more  upon  the  subject  than  his  master,  and 
their  frequent  intercourse  has  begot  a  familiarity  in  the  old 
negro  which  is  almost  fatal  to  Meriwether's  supremacy.  The 
old  man  feels  himself  authorized  to  maintain  his  positions  accord- 
ing to  the  freest  parliamentary  form,  and  sometimes  with  a  violence 
of  asseveration  that  compels  his  master  to  abandon  his  ground, 
purely  out  of  faint-heartedness.  Meriwether  gets  a  little  nettled 
by  Carey's  doggedness,  but  generally  turns  it  off  in  a  laugh.  I 
was  in  the  stable  with  him,  a  few  mornings  after  my  arrival,  when 
he  ventured  to  expostulate  with  the  venerable  groom  upon  a  pro- 
fessional point,  but  the  controversy  terminated  in  its  customary 
way.  "  Who  sot  you  up.  Master  Frank,  to  tell  me  how  to  fodder 
that  'ere  cretur,  when  I  as  good  as  nursed  you  on  my  knee  ?" 

'•  "Well,  tie  up  your  tongue,  you  old  mastiff,"  replied  Frank,  as 
he  walked  out  of  the  stable,  "  and  cease  growling,  since  you  will 
have  it  your  own  way ;" — and  then,  as  we  left  the  old  man's  pre- 
sence, he  added,  with  an  affectionate  chuckle — "  a  faithful  old  cur, 
too,  that  snaps  at  me  out  of  pure  honesty ;  he  has  not  many  years 
left,  and  it  does  no  harm  to  humor  him !" 


CHAPTER  IIL 


FAMILY     PORTRAITS. 


Whilst  Frank  Meriwether  amuses  himself  with  his  quiddities, 
and  floats  through  life  upon  the  current  of  his  humor,  his  dame, 
my  excellent  cousin  Lucretia,  takes  charge  of  the  household 
affairs,  as  one  who  has  a  reputation  to  stake  upon  her  administra' 
tion.  She  has  made  it  a  perfect  science,  and  great  is  her  fame  in 
the  dispensation  thereof! 

Those  who  have  visited  Swallow  Barn  will  long  remember  the 
morning  stir,  of  which  the  murmurs  arose  even  unto  the  cham- 
bers, and  fell  upon  the  ears  of  the  sleepers ; — the  dry-rubbing  of 
floors,  and  even  the  waxing  of  the  same  until  they  were  like  ice ; — 
and  the  grinding  of  coffee-mills  ; — and  the  gibber  of  ducks,  and 
chickens,  and  turkeys ;  and  all  the  multitudinous  concert  of 
homely  sounds.  And  then,  her  breakfasts  !  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
counted  extravagant,  but  a  small  regiment  might  march  in  upon 
her  without  disappointment ;  and  I  would  put  them  for  excellence 
and  variety  against  any  thing  that  ever  was  served  upon  platter. 
Moreover,  all  things  go  like  clock-work.  She  rises  with  the  lark, 
and  infuses  an  early  vigor  into  the  whole  household.  And  yet 
she  is  a  thin  woman  to  look  upon,  and  a  feeble  ;  with  a  sallow 
complexion,  and  a  pair  of  animated  black  eyes  which  impart  a 
portion  of  fire  to  a  countenance  otherwise  demure  from  the  paths 


w 


IMi'ilil!i.  iiii.:!;-' 


:.it>ii1 


^     N|i1|ftV' 


<im^^^> 


>,^.^^^  S<l\\^ 


1 


FAMILY     rORTRAITS.  30 

worn  across  it,  iu  the  frequent  travel  of  a  low-country  ague.  But, 
although  her  life  has  been  somewhat  saddened  by  such  visita- 
tions, my  cousin  is  too  spirited  a  woman  to  give  up  to  them ;  for 
she  is  therapeutical  in  her  constitution,  and  considers  herself  a 
full  match  for  any  reasonable  tertian  in  the  world.  Indeed,  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  she  took  more  pride  in  her  leecli 
craft  than  becomes  a  Christian  woman  :  she  is  even  a  little 
vain-glorious.  For,  to  say  nothing  of  her  skill  in  compounding 
simples,  she  has  occasionally  brought  down  upon  her  head  the 
sober  remonstrances  of  her  husband,  by  her  pertinacious  faith  in 
the  efficacy  of  certain  spells  in  cases  of  intermittent.  But  there 
is  no  reasoning  against  her  experience.  She  can  enumerate  the 
cases — '•  and  men  may  say  what  they  choose  about  its  being  con- 
trary to  reason,  and  all  that : — it  is  their  way  !  But  seeing  is 
believing — nine  scoops  of  water  in  the  hollow  of  the  hand,  from 
the  sycamore  spring,  for  three  mornings,  before  sunrise,  and  a 
cup  of  strong  coffee  with  lemon-juice,  will  break  an  ague,  try  it 
when  you  will."  In  short,  as  Frank  says,  "  Lucretia  will  die  in 
that  creed." 

I  am  occasionally  up  early  enough  to  be  witness  to  her  morn- 
ing regimen",  which,  to  my  mind,  is  rather  tyrannically  enforced 
against  the  youngsters  of  her  numerous  family,  both  white  and 
black.  She  is  in  the  habit  of  preparing  some  death-routing  de- 
coction for  them,  in  a  small  pitcher,  and  administering  it  to  the 
whole  squadron  in  succession,  who  severally  swallow  the  dose 
with  a  most  ineffectual  effort  at  repudiation,  and  gallop  off,  with 
faces  all  rue  and  wormwood. 

Every  thing  at  Swallow  Barn,  that  falls  within  the  superin- 
tendence of  my  cousin  Lucretia  is  a  pattern  of  industry.  In  fact, 
I  consider  her  the  very  priestess  of  the  American  system,  for^ 
with  her,  the  protection  of  manufactures  is  even  more  of  a  passion 
than  a  principle.     Every  here  and  there,  over  the  estate,  may  be 


40  FAMILY     rOKTIlAlTS. 

seen,  rising  in  humble  guise  above  the  shrubbery,  the  rude  chim 
ney  of  a  log  cabin,  where  all  the  livelong  day  the  plaintive  moaning 
of  the  spinning-wheel  rises  fitfully  upon  the  breeze,  like  the  fan- 
cied notes  of  a  hobgoblin,  as  they  are  sometimes  imitated  in  the 
stoi'ies  with  which  we  frighten  children.  In  these  laboratories 
the  negro  women  are  employed  in  preparing  yarn  for  the  loom, 
from  which  is  produced  not  only  a  comfortable  supply  of  winter 
clothing  for  the  working  people,  but  some  excellent  carpets  for 
the  house. 

It  is  refreshing  to  behold  how  affectionately  vain  our  good 
Lostess  is  of  Frank,  and  what  deference  she  shows  to  his  judgment 
in  all  matters,  except  those  that  belong  to  the  home  department ; 
— for  there  she  is  confessedly  and  without  appeal,  the  paramount 
power.  It  seems  to  be  a  dogma  with  her,  that  he  is  the  very 
"  first  man  In  Virginia,"  an  expression  which  in  this  region  has 
grown  into  an  emphatic  provincialism.  Frank,  in  return,  is  a 
devout  admirer  of  her  accomplishments,  and  although  he  does  not 
jiretend  to  an  ear  for  music,  he  is  in  raptures  at  her  skill  on  the 
harpsichord,  when  she  plays  at  night  for  the  children  to  dance ; 
and  he  sometimes  sets  her  to  singing  •  The  Twins  of  Latona,' 
and  '  Old  Towler,'  and  '  The  llose-Tree  in  Full  Bearing'  (she  does 
not  study  the  modern  music),  for  the  entertainment  of  his  com- 
pany. On  these  occasions  he  stands  by  the  instrument,  and 
nods  his  head,  as  if  he  comprehended  the  airs. 

She  is  a  fruitful  vessel,  and  seldom  fails  in  her  annual  tribute 
to  the  honors  of  the  family ;  and,  sooth  to  say,  Frank  is  reputed 
to  be  somewhat  restiff  under  these  multiplying  blessings.  They 
liave  two  lovely  girls,  just  verging  towards  womanhood,  who 
attract  a  supreme  regard  in  the  household,  and  to  whom  Frank 
is  perfectly  devoted.  Next  to  these  is  a  boy, — a  shrewd,  mis- 
chievous imp.  who  curvets  about  the  house,  '  a  chartered  liber- 
tine.'    He  is  a  little  wiry  fellow  near  thirteen,  known  altogether 


FAMILY     rORTJlAITS.  41 

by  the  nick-name  of  Rip,  and  has  a  scapegrace  countenance,  full 
of  freckles  and  devilry ;  the  eyes  are  somewhat  greenish,  and 
the  mouth  opens  alarmingly  wide  upon  a  tumultuous  array  of 
discolored  teeth.  His  whole  air  is  that  of  an  untrimmed  colt, 
torn  down  and  disorderly ;  and  I  most  usually  find  him  with  the 
bosom  of  his  shirt  bagged  out,  so  as  to  form  a  great  pocket, 
where  he  carries  apples  or  green  walnuts,  and  sometimes  peb- 
Hes,  with  which  he  is  famous  for  pelting  the  fowls. 

I  must  digress,  to  say  a  word  about  Rip's  head-gear.  He 
wears  a  nondescript  skull-cap,  which,  I  conjecture  from  some 
equivocal  signs,  had  once  been  a  fur  hat,  but  which  must  have 
taken  a  degree  in  fifty  other  callings ;  for  I  see  it  daily  employed 
in  the  most  foreign  services.  Sometimes  it  is  a  drinking-vessel, 
and  then  Rip  pinches  it  up  like  a  cocked  hat ;  sometimes  it  is 
devoted  to  push-pin,  and  then  it  is  cuffed  cruelly  on  both  sides  ; 
and  sometimes  it  is  turned  into  a  basket,  to  carry  eggs  from  the 
hen-roosts.  It  finds  hard  service  at  hat-ball,  where,  like  a  plas- 
tic statesman,  it  is  popular  for  its  pliability.  It  is  tossed  in  the 
air  on  all  occasions  of  rejoicing  ;  and  now  and  then  serves  for  a 
gauntlet — and  is  flung  with  energy  upon  the  ground,  on  the  eve 
of  a  battle ;  and  it  is  kicked  occasionally  through  the  school- 
yard, after  the  fashion  of  a  bladder.  It  wears  a  singular  exte- 
rior, having  a  row  of  holes  cut  below  the  crown,  or  rather  the 
apex,  (for  it  is  pyramidal  in  shape.)  to  make  it  cool,  as  Rip  ex- 
plains it,  in  hot  weather.  The  only  rest  that  it  enjoys  through 
the  day,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  perceive,  is  during  school- 
hours,  and  then  it  is  thrust  between  a  desk  and  a  bulkhead, 
three  inches  apart,  where  it  generally  envelopes  in  its  folds  a 
handful  of  hickory -nuts  or  marbles.  This  covering  falls  down — 
for  it  has  no  lining — like  an  extinguisher  over  Rip's  head.  To 
prevent  the  recurrence  of  this  accident,  he  has  tied  it  up  with  a 
hat-band  of  twine. 


42  FAMILY     rORTRAITS. 

From  Eip  the  rest  of  the  progeny  descend  on  the  scale,  in 
regular  gradations,  like  the  keys  of  a  Pandean  pipe,  and  with 
the  same  variety  of  intonations,  until  the  series  is  terminated  in 
a  chubby,  dough-faced  infant,  not  above  three  months  old. 

This  little  infantry  is  under  the  care  of  mistress  Barbara 
Winkle,  an  antique  retainer  of  the  family,  who  attends  them  at 
bed  and  board, — and  every  morning,  I  am  told,  plunges  the 
whole  bevy,  one  by  one,  into  a  tub  of  cold  water,  at  which  they 
make  terrible  wry  faces. 

This  mistress  Barbara  is  a  functionary  of  high  rank  in  the 
family,  and  of  great  privileges,  from  having  exercised  her  office 
through  a  preceding  generation  at  Swallow  Barn.  She  is  quite 
remarkable  at  that  time  of  day  when  festive  preparations  are  in 
progress.  A  dinner-party  calls  forth  all  her  energy,  and  exhibits 
her  to  great  advantage  as  an  effective  woman.  She  glides  up 
a.r>d  down  stairs  like  a  phantom,  and  you  are  aware  of  her  com- 
ing Dy  a  low  jingle  of  keys.  One  moment  she  is  whipping  cream, 
and  the  next  threatening  the  same  operation  on  some  unlucky 
youngster  of  the  kitchen  who  chances  to  meddle  with  her  labors. 
You  may  hear  her  clattering  eggs  in  a  bowl,  scolding  servants, 
and  screaming  at  Bip,  who  is  perpetually  in  her  way,  amongst 
the  sweetmeats  :  all  of  which  matters,  though  enacted  with  a 
vinegar  aspect,  it  is  easy  to  sec  are  very  agreeable  to  her  self- 
love. 

There  is  no  reverence  like  that  of  children  for  potentates  of 
this  description.  Her  very  glance  has  in  it  something  discon- 
certing to  the  young  fry ;  and  they  will  twist  their  dumpling 
faces  into  every  conceivable  expression  of  grief,  before  they  will 
dare  to  squall  out  in  her  presence.  Even  Rip  is  afraid  of  her. 
"When  the  old  woman's  mad,  she  is  a  horse  to  whip  !"  he  told 
Ned  and  myself  one  morning,  upon  our  questioning  him  as  to  the 
particulars  of  an  uproar  in  which  he  had  been  the  principal  actor. 


FAMILY     r  O  R  T  RAITS,  43 

These  exercises  on  the  part  of  the  old  lady  are  neither  rare  nor 
unwholesome,  and  are  winked  at  by  the  higher  authorities. 

Mrs.  Winkle's  complexion  is  the  true  parchment,  and  her 
roice  is  somewhat  cracked.  She  takes  Scotch  snuff  from  a  silver 
box,  and  wears  a  pair  of  horn  spectacles,  which  give  effect  to  the 
peculiar  peakedness  of  her  nose.  On  days  of  state  she  appears 
in  all  the  rich  coxcombry  of  the  olden  time ;  her  gown  being  of 
an  obsolete  fashion,  sprinkled  with  roses  and  sun-flowers,  and  her 
lizard  arms  encased  in  tight  sleeves'*  as  far  as  the  elbow,  where 
they  are  met  by  silken  gloves  without  fingers.  A  starched 
tucker  is  pinned,  with  a  pedantic  precision,  across  her  breast ; 
and  a  prim  cap  of  muslin,  puckered  into  a  point  with  a  grotesque 
conceit,  adorns  her  head. — Take  her  altogether,  she  looks  very 
stately  and  bitter.  Then,  when  she  walks,  it  is  inconceivable 
how  aristocratically  she  rustles, — especially  on  a  Sunday. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


FAMILY      PARAGONS. 


My  picture  of  the  family  at  Swallow  Barn  would  be  incomplete 
if  I  did  not  give  a  conspicuous  place  to  my  two  young  cousins, 
Lucy  and  Victorine,  It  is  true  they  are  cousins  only  in  the 
second  remove,  but  I  have  become  sufficiently  naturalized  to  the 
soil  to  perceive  the  full  value  of  the  relation ;  and  as  they  ac- 
knowledge it  very  affectionately  to  me — for  I  was  promoted  to 
"  Cousin  Mark"  almost  in  the  first  hour  after  my  arrival — I 
should  be  unreasonably  reluctant  if  I  did  not  assert  the  full 
right  of  blood.  Lucy  tells  "me  she  is  only  fifteen,  and  that  she  is 
one  year  and  one  month  older  than  Vic,  "  for  all  that  Yic  is 
taller  than  she."  Now,  Lucy  is  a  little  fairy  with  blue  eyes  and 
light  hair,  and  partially  freckled  and  sun-burnt — being  a  very 
pretty  likeness  of  Rip,  who,  I  have  said,  is  an  imp  of  homeli- 
ness ;  a  fact  which  all  experience  shows  to  be  quite  consistent 
with  the  highest  beauty.  Victorine  is  almost  a  head  taller,  and 
possesses  a  stronger  frame.  She  differs,  too,  from  her  sister  by 
her  jet-black  eyes  and  dark  hair ;  though  they  resemble  each 
other  in  the  wholesome  tan  which  exposure  to  the  atmosphere 
has  spread  alike  over  the  cheeks  of  both. 

These  two  girls  are  educated  entirely  at  home,  and  are  grow- 
ing up  together  in  the  most  confiding  mutual  affection.     There 


FAMILY     PARAGONS.  45 

is  nothing  more  lovely  than  two  sisters  in  this  relation,  tranquilly 
and  unconsciously  gliding  onwards  to  womanhood  amongst  the 
familiar  images  and  gentle  influences  of  the  household  circle ; 
their  kindly  impulses  set  in  motion  by  the  caresses  of  friends  ; 
their  tastes  directed  by  the  simple  and  pure  enjoyments  of  a 
refined  home  in  the  country,  where  nature  supplies  so  many  beau 
tiful  objects  to  attract  the  eye,  and  afiection  so  much  pleasant 
guidance  to  inform  the  heart ;  where  lessons  of  love  are  received 
from  parental  teaching,  or  absorbed,  rather,  from  looks  that  are 
more  eloquent  than  words  ;  where  useful  instruction  loses  all  its 
weariness  in  the  encouragement  of  that  fond  applause  which  is 
assiduous  to  reward  patient  toil  or  to  cheer  the  effort  which  has 
paused  in  the  fear  of  failure.  No  over-stimulated  ambition  is 
likely  there  to  taint  the  mind  with  those  vices  of  rivalry  which, 
in  schools,  often  render  youth  selfish  and  unamiable,  and  suggest 
thoughts  of  concealment  and  stratagem  as  aids  in  the  race  of  pre- 
eminence. Home,  to  a  young  girl,  is  a  world  peopled  with 
kindly  faces  and  filled  only  with  virtues.  She  does  not  know, 
even  by  report,  the  impure  things  of  life.  She  has  heard  and 
read  of  its  miseries,  for  which  her  heart  melts  in  charity,  and  she 
grows  up  in  the  faith  that  she  was  born  to  love  the  good  and 
render  kind  offices  to  the  wretched  ;  but  she  conceives  nothing  of 
the  wickedness  of  a  world  which  she  has  never  seen,  and  lives  on 
to  womanhood  in  a  happy  and  guarded  ignorance,  which  is  not 
broken  until  her  mind  has  acquired  a  strength  sufficient  to  dis- 
cern and  repel  whatever  there  may  be  dangerous  in  knowledge. 

"  Affections  are  as  thoughts  to  her, 
The  measures  of  her  hom-s" 

Poh  ! — bless  me  ! — These  children  have  actually  brought  me 
to  lecturing  and  quoting  verse.  Let  me  get  back  to  my  appro- 
priate function  of  narrative. 


46  F  A  M I L  Y     P  A  R  A  G  O  N  S . 

Lucy  is  rather  meditative  for  her  age — calm  and  almost 
matronly.  She  is  a  little  housekeeper,  and  affects  to  have  cares. 
Victorine  is  more  intrepid,  and  attracts  universal  regard  by  the 
jollity  of  her  temperament,  which  is  equally  the  index  of  her 
innocence  and  her  healthful  organization.  They  pursue  the  same 
studies,  and  I  see  them  every  morning  at  their  tasks,  often  read- 
ing from  the  same  book  with  their  arms  around  each  other's 
waist.  They  have  profound  confidences  in  which  they  think 
themselves  very  secure  and  exclusive ;  but  I  can  often  tell  them 
their  whole  secret  by  watching  their  by-play  ; — which  shrewdness 
of  mine  is  so  inexplicable  to  them,  that  they  think  I  am  some- 
thing of  a  conjurer.  I  frequently  walk  with  them  in  the  evening 
on  the  river  bank.  They  are  invariably  attended  upon  these 
rambles  by  two  large  white  pointers,  who  gambol  around  them 
with  a  most  affectionate  playfulness,  and  are  constantly  soliciting 
the  applause  of  their  pretty  mistresses  by  the  gallant  assiduities 
which  are  characteristic  of  this  race  of  faithful  animals. 

Meriwether  is  accustomed  to  have  these  girls  read  to  him 
some  portion  of  every  day.  By  this  requisition,  which  he  puts 
upon  the  ground  of  an  amusement  for  himself,  he  has  beguiled 
them  into  graver  studies  than  are  generally  pursued  at  that  time 
of  life.  It  is  quite  charming  to  notice  the  unwearying  devotion 
they  bestow  upon  this  labor,  which  they  think  gives  pleasure  to 
their  father.  He,  of  course,  looks  upon  them  as  the  most  gifted 
creatures  in  existence.  And  truly,  they  have  gained  so  much 
upon  me,  that  I  don't  think  he  is  far  wrong. 

A  window  in  the  upper  story  of  one  of  the  wings  of  the  build- 
ing overlooks  a  flower-garden,  and  around  this  window  grows  a 
profusion  of  creeping  vino  which  is  trained  with  architectural 
precision  along  the  wall  to  the  roof  It  is  a  prim,  decorous 
plant,  with  icy  leaves  of  perdurable  green,  without  a  flower  of  its 
own  to  give  variety  to  its  staid  drapery.     Here  and  there,  how- 


r 


FAMILY     PARAGONS.  47 


ever,  an  intruding  rose  has  stolen  a  nest  amongst  its  plexures, 
and  looks  pleasantly  forth  from  this  sober  tapestry.  In  this 
window,  about  noon-tide,  may  be  daily  seen  the  profuse  tresses 
of  a  head  of  flaxen  hair  scrupulousl}'-  adjusted  in  glossy  volume  ; 
and  ever  and  anon,  as  it  moves  to  some  thoughtful  impulse,  is 
disclosed  a  studious  brow  of  fairest  white.  And  sometimes,  more 
fully  revealed,  may  be  seen  the  entire  head  of  the  lady  as  she 
sits  intent  upon  the  perusal  of  a  book.  The  lady  Prudence  is  in 
iier  bower,  and  pursues  some  theme  of  fancy  in  the  delicious 
realm  of  poesy,  or  with  pencil  and  brush  shapes  and  gilds  the 
wings  of  gaudy  butterflies,  or,  peradventure,  enricheth  her  album 
with  dainty  sonnets.  And  sometimes,  in  listless  musing,  she 
rests  her  chin  upon  her  gem-bedizened  hand,  and  fixes  her  soft 
blue  eye  upon  the  flower-beds  where  the  humming-bird  is  poised 
before  the  honeysuckle.  But  howsoever  engaged,  it  is  a  dedi- 
cated hour.  I  have  said  profanely,  once  before,  that  "  a  tall 
spinster"  sat  at  the  family  board,  and  now  here  she  sits  in  her 
morning  guise,  silent  and  alone,  pondering  over  the  creations  of 
genius  and  the  dreams  of  art. 

Prudence  Meriwether  is  an  only  sister  of  Frank's,  and  holds 
a  station  somewhat  eminent  amongst  the  household  idols.  She 
is  rather  comely  to  look  upon — very  neat  in  person,  and  is  con- 
sidered high  authority  in  matter  of  dress.  But  Time,  who 
notches  mortal  shapes  with  as  little  mercy  as  the  baker,  in  his 
morning  circuit,  notches  his  tally-stick,  has  calendared  his  visits 
even  upon  this  goodly  form.  A  shrewd  observer  may  note  in  sun- 
dry evidences  of  a  fastidious  choice  of  colors,  and  of  what, — to 
coin  a  word, — I  might  call  a  scrupulous  toiletry^  that  the  lapse 
of  human  seasons  has  not  j^assed  unheeded  by  this  lady.  He 
may  detect,  sometimes,  an  overdone  vivacity  in  her  accost,  and 
an  exaggerated  thoughtlessness ;  sometimes,  in  her  tone  of  con- 
versation, a  little  too  much  girlishness,  which  betrays  a  suspicion 


48  FAMILY     PARAGONS. 

of  its  opposite :  and  there  are  certain  sober  lines  journeying 
from  the  mouth  cheekward,  which  are  ruminative,  in  spite  of  her 
light-heartedness.  These  are  quite  pleasant  signs  to  an  astute, 
experienced,  perspicacious  bachelor,  like  myself,  who  can  read 
them  with  a  learned  skill ;  they  speak  of  that  mellow  time  when 
a  woman  captivates  by  complaisance,  and  overcomes  her  adver 
sary  rather  by  marching  out  of  her  fort  to  challenge  attack,  than 
by  standing  a  siege  within  it. 

There  is  a  dash  of  the  picturesque  in  the  character  of  this 
lady.  Towards  sunset  she  is  apt  to  stray  forth  amongst  the  old 
oaks,  and  to  gather  small  bouquets  of  wild  flowers,  in  the  pursuit 
of  which  she  contrives  to  get  into  very  pretty  attitudes  ;  or  she 
falls  into  raptures  at  the  shifting  tints  of  the  clouds  on  the  west- 
ern sky,  and  produces  quite  a  striking  pictorial  effect  by  the  skil- 
ful choice  of  a  position  which  shows  her  figure  in  strong  relief 
against  the  evening  light.  And  then  in  her  boudoir  may  be 
found  exquisite  sketches  from  her  pencil,  of  forms  of  love  and 
beauty,  belted  and  buckled  knights,  old  castles  and  pensive 
ladies,  Madonnas  and  cloistered  nuns, — the  offspring  of  an  artistic 
imagination  heated  with  romance  and  devotion.  Her  attire  is, 
sometimes,  studiously  simple  and  plain,  and  her  bearing  is  de- 
mure and  contemplative  ;  but  this  is  never  long  continued,  for, 
in  spite  of  her  discipline,  she  does  not  wish  to  be  accounted  as 
one  inclined  to  be  serious  in  her  turn  of  mind.  I  have  seen  her 
break  out  into  quite  a  riotous  vivacity.  This  is  very  likely  tr 
ensue  when  she  is  brought  into  fellowship  with  a  flaunting  mad 
cap  belle  who  is  carrying  all  before  her :  she  then  "  overbears 
her  continents,"  and  becomes  as  flaunting  a  madcap  as  tho 
other. 

If  Prudence  has  a  fault — which  proposition  I  prudently  put 
with  an  if^  as  a  doubtful  question — it  is  in  setting  the  domestic 
virtues  at  too  high  a  value.   One  may,  perhaps,  be  too  inveterately 


F  A  M  I  L  Y     r  A  E.  A  G  O  N  S  .  49 

charitable.  I  think  the  establishment  of  three  Sunday  schools,  a 
colonization  society  membership,  a  management  in  a  tract  asso- 
ciation, and  an  outward  and  visible  patronage  of  the  cause  of 
temperance,  by  the  actual  enrolment  of  her  name  amongst  those 
who  have  taken  the  pledge,  smack  a  little  of  supererogation, 
though  I  don't  wish  to  set  up  my  judgment  too  peremptorily  on 
this  point.  And  I  think,  also,  one  may  carry  the  praise  of  the 
purity  of  country  life,  and  of  the  benefits  of  solitude  and  self- 
constraint,  to  an  extent  which  might  appear  merciless  towards 
those  whose  misfortune  it  is  to  live  in  a  sphere  where  these  virtues 
annot  be  so  fully  cultivated.  If  a  tendency  in  this  direction  be 
I  blemish  in  the  composition  of  our  lady,  it  is  a  very  slight  one, 
md  is  amply  compensated  by  the  many  pleasant  aberrations  she 
makes  from  this  phase  of  her  character.  She  converses  with 
^reat  ease  upon  all  subjects — even  with  a  dangerous  facility,  I 
may  say,  which  sometimes  leads  her  into  hyperbole :  her  diction 
3Ccasionaliy  becomes  high-flown,  and  expands  into  the  incompre- 
hensible— but  that  is  only  when  she  is  excited.  Her  manner,  at 
times,  might  be  called  oratorical,  particularly  when,  in  imitation 
Df  her  brother,  she  bewails  the  departure  of  the  golden  age,  or 
ieclaims  upon  the  prospect  of  its  revival  among  the  rejuvenescent 
glories  of  the  Old  Dominion.  She  has  an  awful  idea  of  the  per- 
ect  respectability,  I  might  almost  say  splendor,' of  her  lineage, 
md  this  is  one  of  the  few  points  upon  which  I  know  her  to  be 
touchy. 

Apart  from  these  peculiarities,  which  are  but  fleecy  clouds 
iupon  a  summer  sky,  even  enhancing  its  beauty,  or  mites  upon  a 
snow-drift,  she  is  a  captivating  specimen  of  a  ripened  maiden, 
just  standing  on  that  sunshiny  verge  from  which  the  prospect 
beyond  presents  a  sedate  autumnal  landscape  gently  subsiding 
into  undistinguishable  and  misty  confusion  of  hill  and  dale  array- 
ed in  golden-tinted  gray.     It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  with 


50 


FAMILY     TARAGONS, 


her  varied  perfections,  and  the  advantages  of  her  position,  th 
James  River  world  should  insensibly  have  elevated  Prudenc 
Meriwether  to  the  poetical  altitude  of  the  '•  cynosure  of  neigh 
boring  eyes." 


CHAPTER  V. 

NED   HAZARD. 

Ned  Hazard  has  become  my  inseparable  companion.  He 
has  a  fine,  flowing  stream  of  good  spirits,  which  is  sometimes 
interrupted  by  a  slight  under-current  of  sadness ;  it  is  even  a 
ludicrous  pensiveness,  that  derives  its  comic  quality  from  Ned's 
constitutional  merriment. 

He  is  now  about  thirty-three,  with  a  tolerably  good  person,  a 
little  under  six  feet,  and  may  be  seen  generally  after  breakfast, 
whilst  old  Carey  is  getting  our  horses  for  a  morning  ride,  in  an 
olive  frock,  black  stock,  and  yellow  waistcoat,  with  a  G-erman 
forage-cap  of  light  cloth,  having  a  frontlet  of  polished  leather, 
rather  conceitedly  drawn  over  his  dark,  laughing  eye.  This 
head-gear  gives  a  picturesque  effect  to  his  person,  and  suits  well 
with  his  weather-beaten  cheek,  as  it  communicates  a  certain  reck- 
less expression  that  agrees  with  his  character.  The  same  trait 
is  heightened  by  the  half  swagger  with  which  he  strikes  his  boot 
with  his  riding-whip,  or  keeps  at  bay  a  beautiful  spaniel,  called 
Wilfui,  which  haunts  his  person  like  a  familiar.  Indeed,  I  have 
grown  to  possess  something  of  this  canine  attachment  to  him 
myself,  and  already  constitute  a  very  important  member  of  his 
suite,  It  is  a  picture  worth  contemplating,  to  see  us  during  one 
of  those  listless  intervals.    For,  first,  there  is  Ned  lounging  along 


I 


52  NED     II A  Z  A  K  D  . 

I 

the  court-yard  with  both  hands  in  his  side  pockets,  and  either i 
telling  me  some  story,  or  vexing  a  great  turkey-cock,  by  imitating 
both  his  gobble  and  his  strut ; — before  him  walks  Wilful,  strictly 
regulating  his  pace  by  his  master's,  and  turning  his  eye,  every 
now  and  then,  most  affectionately  towards  him  ;  then  ]\Ieriwether's  j 
two  pointers  may  be  seen  bounding  in  circles  round  him ; — a  lit- 
tle terrier,  who  assumes  the  consequence  of  a  watch-dog.  is  sure  ' 
to  solicit  Ned's  notice  by  jumping  at  his  hand  ;  and,  last  in  the 
train,  is  myself,  who  have  learned  to  saunter  in  Ned's  track  with 
the  fidelity  of  a  shadow.     It  may  be  conjectured  from  this  pic- 
ture that  Ned  possesses  fascinations  for  man  and  beast. 

He  is  known  universally  by  the  name  of  Ned  Hazard,  which, 
of  itself,  I  take  to  be  a  good  sign.  This  nicknaming  has  a  flavor 
of  favoritism,  and  betokens  an  amiable  notoriety.  There  is 
something  jocular  in  Ned's  face,  which  I  believe  is  the  source  of 
his  popularity  with  all  classes  ;  but  this  general  good  acceptation 
is  preserved  by  the  variety  of  his  accjuirements.  He  can  accom- 
modate himself  to  all  kinds  of  society.  He  has  slang  for  the 
stable-boys,  proverbs  for  tlie  old  folks,  and  a  most  oratorical 
overflow  of  patriotism  for  the  politicians.  To  the  children  of 
Swallow  Barn  he  is  especially  captivating.  He  tells  them  stories  ■ 
with  the  embellishment  of  a  deep  tone  of  voice  that  makes  them 
quake  in  their  shoes  ;  and  with  the  assistance  of  a  cane  and  cloak, 
surmounted  by  a  hat,  he  will  stalk  amongst  them,  like  a  grizzly 
giant,  so  hideously  erect,  that  the  door  is  a  mere  pigeon-hole  to. 
him  ; — at  which  the  young  cowards  laugh  so  fearfully,  that  I  hav»: 
often  thought  they  were  crying. 

A  few  years  ago  he  was  seized  with  a  romantic  fever  which 
manifested  itself  chiefly  in  a  conceit  to  visit  South  America,  and 
play  knight-errant  in  the  quarrel  of  the  Patriots.  It  was  the 
most  sudden  and  unaccountable  thing  in  the  world  ;  for  no  one 
could  trace  the  infection  to  any  probable  cause  ; — still,  it  grew 


k 


NED     HAZARD.  53 

upon  Ned's  fancy,  and  appeared  in  so  many  brilliant  phases,  that 
there  was  no  getting  it  out  of  his  brain.  As  may  be  imagined, 
this  matter  produced  a  serious  disquiet  in  the  family,  so  that 
Frank  Meriwether  was  obliged  to  take  the  subject  in  hand ;  and, 
finding  all  his  premonitions  and  expostulations  unavailing,  was 
forced  to  give  way  to  the  current  of  Ned's  humor,  hoping  that 
experience  would  purge  the  sight  that  had  been  dimmed  by  the 
light  of  a  too  vivid  imagination.  It  was  therefore  arranged  that 
Ned  should  visit  this  theatre  of  glory,  and  stand  by  the  award  of 
his  own  judgment  upon  the  view.  He  accordingly  sailed  from 
New- York  in  the  Paragon,  bound  for  Lima,  and,  in  due  time, 
doubled  Cape  Horn.  So,  after  glancing  at  the  Patriots  in  all 
their  positions,  attitudes  and  relations, — with  an  eye  military  and 
civil, — and  being  well  bitten  with  fleas,  and  apprehended  as  a  spy, 
and  nearly  assassinated  as  a  heretic,  he  carefully  looked  back 
upon  the  whole  train  of  this  fancy,  even  from  its  first  engendering, 
with  all  the  motives,  false  conclusions,  misrepresentations,  and  so 
forth,  which  had  a  hand  in  the  adopting  and  pursuing  of  it,  and 
then  came  to  a  sober  conclusion  that  he  was  the  most  egregious 
fool  that  had  ever  set  out  in  quest  of  a  wild  goose.  "  What  the 
devil  could  have  put  such  a  thing  into  my  head,  and  kept  me  at 
it  for  a  whole  year,  it  puzzles  me  to  tell !"  was  his  own  comment 
upon  this  freak,  when  I  questioned  him  about  it.  However,  he 
came  home  the  most  disquixotted  cavalier  that  ever  hung  up  his 
shield  at  the  end  of  a  scurvy  crusade  ;  and  to  make  amends  for 
the  inconvenience  and  alarm  he  had  occasioned, — for  my  cousin 
Lucretia  expected  to  hear  of  his  being  strangled,  like  Laocoon,  in 
the  folds  of  a  serpent, — he  brought  with  him  an  amusing  journal, 
which  is  now  bound  in  calf,  and  holds  a  conspicuous  place  in  the 
library  at  Swallow  Barn.  This  trip  into  the  other  hemisphere 
has  furnished  him  with  an  assortment  of  wonders,  both  of  the  sea 
and  the  land,  the  theme  of  divers  long  stories,  which  Ned  tells 


54  NED     HAZARD. 

like  a  traveller.  He  is  accused  of  repeating  them  to  the  same 
auditors,  and  Frank  Meriwether  has  a  provoking  way  of  raising 
his  hands,  and  turning  his  eyes  towards  the  ceiling,  and  saying 
in  an  under-tone,  just  as  Ned  is  setting  out : 

"  A  traveller  there  was  wlio  told  a  good  tale ; 
By  my  troth !  it  was  true,  but  then  it  was  stale." 

This  invariably  flushes  Ned's  face  ;  and  with  a  modest  expos- 
tulation, in  a  voice  of  great  kindness,  he  will  say,  "  My  dear  sir,  I 
assure  you  I  never  told  you  this  before — you  are  thinking  of  a 
difi'erent  thing."  "  Then,  Uncle  Ned" — as  Kip  said,  on  one  of  thes- 
occasions,  while  he  was  lying  on  the  floor  and  kicking  up  his 
heels — "  you  are  going  to  make  as  you  go." — These  things  are 
apt  to  disconcert  him,  and  occasion  a  little  out-break  of  a  momen- 
tary peevish,  but  irresistibly  comic  thoughtfulness,  which  I  have 
said  before  formed  a  constituent  of  his  temper.  It  is,  however, 
but  for  a  moment,  and  he  takes  the  joke  like  a  hero.  It  is  now 
customary  in  the  family,  when  any  thing  of  a  marvellous  nature 
is  mentioned,  to  say  that  it  happened  round  the  Horn.  Ned  is 
evidently  shy  of  these  assaults,  and  rather  cautious  how  he  names 
the  Horn  if  Meriwether  be  in  company. 

I  have  gleaned  some  particulars  of  Hazard's  education,  which, 
as  they  serve  to  illustrate  his  character,  I  think  worth  relating. 

When  he  was  ten  or  eleven  years  old,  he  was  put  under  the 
government  of  a  respectable  teacher,  who  kept  an  academy  on  the 
border  of  the  mountain  country,  where  he  spent  several  years  of  his 
life.  In  this  rustic  gymnasium,  under  the  supervision  of  Mr.  Crab, 
who  was  the  principal  of  the  establishment,  he  soon  became  con- 
Bpicuous  for  liis  hardiness  and  address  in  the  wayward  adventures 
and  miniature  wars  which  diversified  tlie  history  of  this  littl 
community.  He  was  always  an  apt  scholar,  though  not  the  most 
assiduous ;  but  his  frank  and  upright  qualities  rendered  him  equally 


N  E  D     II  A  Z  A  R  D  .  55 

a  farorlte  with  the  master  and  the  pupils.  He  speaks  of  the 
attachments  of  this  period  of  his  life  with  the  unction  of  unabated 
fondness.  In  one  of  our  late  rambles,  he  gave  me  the  following 
sketch  of  the  circumstances  under  which  he  quitted  these  scenes 
of  his  youth.  His  father  was  about  removing  him  to  college,  and 
the  separation  was  to  be  final.  I  have  endeavored  to  preserve 
i|  his  own  narrative,  because  I  think  it  more  graphic  than  mine 
would  be ;  and  at  the  same  time  it  will  show  the  gentle  strain  of 
affection  that  belongs  to  his  nature. 

"  The  condition  of  a  schoolboy,"  said  Ned,"  forces  upon  the  mind 
the  import  of  a  state  of  probation,  more  soberly  than  any  other 
position  in  life.  All  that  the  scripture  tells  us  about  the  transi- 
toriness  of  human  affairs, — of  man  being  a  traveller,  and  life  a 
shadow, — is  constitutionally  part  and  parcel  of  the  meditations 
of  the  schoolboy.  He  lives  amidst  discomforts  ;  his  room  is  small 
and  ill-furnished ;  his  clothes  are  hung  upon  a  peg,  or  stowed 
I  away  in  a  chest,  where  every  thing  that  should  be  at  the  top,  is 
i  sure  to  lodge  at  the  bottom  ;  his  coat  carries  its  rent  from  term 
I  to  term,  and  his  stockings  are  returned  to  him  undarned  from  the 
j  washerwoman ;  his  food  is  rough  and  unsavory  ;  he  shivers  in 
I  a  winter  morning  over  a  scant  and  smoky  fire  ;  he  sleeps  in  sum- 
mer  in  the  hottest  room  of  the  house  : — All  this  he  submits  to 
with  patience,  because  he  feels  that  he  is  but  for  a  season,  and 
that  a  reversion  of  better  things  awaits  him. 

'•  My  preceptor  Mr.  Crab  was,  outwardly,  an  austere  man ;  but 
his  was  the  austerity  which  the  best  natures  are  apt  to  contract 
from  long  association  with  pupils.  His  intercourse  with  the  boys 
was  one  of  command,  and  he  had  but  few  opportunities  of  min- 
gling in  the  society  of  his  equals.  This  gave  a  rather  severe  re- 
serve to  his  manners ;  but,  at  bottom,  he  had  kindly  feelings 
which  awkwardly  manifested  themselves  in  frequent  favors,  con- 
ferred without  any  visible  signs  of  courtesy.     His  wife  was  a  fat, 


56  ,  NEDHAZARD. 

shortwinded  old  lady,  with  a  large  round  face,  embellished  above 
with  a  large  ruffled  cap,  and  below,  with  a  huge  double  chin. 
This  "good  lady  was  rather  too  fat  to  move  about,  so  she  main- 
tained a  sovereign  station  in  an  ample  arm-chair,  placed  near  the 
door  that  led  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  was  usually  occupied  in 
paring  apples  to  be  baked  up  into  tough  jacks  for  our  provender, 
aud  issuing  commands  for  the  regulation  of  her  domestic  police, 
in  shrill,  stirring  and  authoritative  tones.  They  had  a  reasonable 
number  of  young  scions  growing  around  them,  who,  however,  were 
so  mingled  in  the  mass  of  the  school  as  nearly  to  have  lost  all  the 
discriminating  instincts  which  might  indicate  their  origin. 

"  We  were  too  troublesome  a  company  to  enlist  much  of  the 
domestic  charities  from  our  tutor ;  still,  however,  in  the  few  gleams 
of  family  endearment  which  fell  to  our  lot,  I  had  contracted  a  kind 
of  household  attachment  to  the  objects  that  surrounded  me.  Our 
old  master  had  the  grave  and  solemn  bearing  of  a  philosopher : 
but  sometimes,  of  winter  nights,  when  our  tasks  were  done,  he 
joined  in  our  sports, — even  got  down  on  the  carpet  to  play  marbles 
with  us,  and  took  quite  an  eager  interest  in  hearing  our  hum- 
ming tops  when  we  stealthily  set  them  to  bellowing  in  the  room. 
These  condescensions  had  a  wonderful  eflfect  upon  us  all,  for,  being 
rare,  they  took  us  somewhat  by  surprise,  and  gave  us  something 
of  the  same  kind  of  pleasure  which  a  child  experiences  in  patting 
a  gentle  and  manageable  lion. 

'•'  I  had  always  looked  forward,  with  a  boyish  love  of  change,  to 
the  period  when  I  was  to  be  called  to  other  scenes.  And  this 
expectation,  whilst  it  rendered  me  indifferent  to  personal  comforts, 
seemed  also  to  warm  my  feelings  towards  my  associates.  I  could 
pardon  many  trespasses  in  those  from  whom  I  was  soon  to  be  sepa- 
rated. My  time,  therefore,  passed  along  in  a  careless  merriment, 
in  which  all  trivial  ills  were  overborne  and  indemnified  in  the  an* 
ticipations  of  the  future. 


N  E  D     II A  Z  A  R  D  .  67 

"  The  summons  to  quit  this  little  sylvan  theatre  was  contained 
in  a  letter  brought  from  my  father  by  Daniel  the  coachman.  It 
directed  me  to  return  without  delay,  and  intimated,  amidst  a  world 
of  parental  advice,  that  I  was  to  be  removed  almost  immediately 
to  college.  Notwithstanding  the  many  secret  yearnings  I  had 
felt  for  the  approach  of  this  period,  I  confess  it  overmastered  me 
when  it  came.  Daniel  had  brought  me  my  pony, — a  little,  short- 
necked,  piggish  animal,  which  in  the  holidays  I  used  to  ride  almost 
to  bed — and  he  himself  was  ready  to  attend  me  on  one  of  the 
coach-horses.  I  had  no  time  to  revolve  the  matter, — so  with  a 
spirit  part  gay  and  part  melancholy,  and  with  an  alacrity  of  step 
assumed  to  conceal  my  emotions  and  to  avoid  the  interchange 
with  my  school-fellows  of  words  I  was  too  much  choked  to  utter, 
I  went  about  my  preparations.  I  collected  my  straggling  ward- 
robe from  the  detached  service  of  my  comrades,  to  whom,  scant 
as  it  was,  I  had  lent  it  piece-meal ;  carefully  paid  off  sundry 
small  debts  of  honor,  contracted  at  the  forbidden  game  of  all- 
fours  ;  and  distributed  largesses,  with  a  prodigal  hand,  amongst 
the  negroes,  with  whom  I  had,  for  a  long  time,  carried  on  an 
active  commerce  in  partridge-traps,  fishing  tackle,  and  other  com- 
modities. I  can  remember  now  with  what  feelings  I  performed 
this  last  office,  as  I  stood  at  the  barn  door,  where  the  farm  servants 
were  threshing  grain,  and  protracted,  as  long  as  I  was  able,  that 
mournful  shaking  of  hands  with  which  the  rogues  gave  me  their 
parting  benedictions ; — for  I  always  had  a  vagabond  fondness  for 
the  blacks  about  the  establishment.  After  this  I  went  into  the 
parlor,  where  our  tender  and  plethoric  mistress  was  employed 
in  one  of  her  customary  morning  duties  of  cleaning  up  the 
breakfast  apparatus,  and  received  a  kiss  from  her,  as  she  held 
a  napkin  in  one  hand  and  a  tea-cup  in  the  other.  I  bestowed  the 
same  token  of  grace  upon  all  the  little  Crabs  that  were  crawling 
about  the  room,  and,  in  the  same  place,  took  my  leave  of  the  old 


/ 


58  NED    HAZARD. 

monarch  himself,  who,  relaxing  into  a  grim  manifestation  of  sorrow, 
took  me  with  both  hands,  and  conducting  me  to  the  window, 
placed  himself  in  a  seat,  where  he  gave  me  a  grave  and  friendly 
admonition, — saying  many  kind  things  to  me,  in  a  kinder  tone 
than  I  had  ever  heard  from  him  before.  Amongst  the  rest,  he 
bade  me  reflect,  that  the  world  was  wide,  and  had  many  fountains 
of  bitter  waters,  whereof — as  I  was  an  easy,  good-natured  fellow 
— it  was  likely  to  be  my  lot  to  drink  more  largely  than  others ; — 
he  begged  me  to  remember  the  many  wholesome  lessons  he  had 
given  me,  and  to  forget  whatever  might  seem  to  me  harsh  in  his 
own  conduct.  Then,  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  he  put  his  hands 
upon  my  head,  and  bestowed  upon  me  an  earnest  and  devout 
blessing,  whilst  the  tears  started  in  both  of  our  eyes.  This  last 
act  he  concluded  by  taking  from  his  pocket  a  small  copy  of  the 
Bible,  which  he  put  into  my  hands  with  a  solemn  exhortation 
that  I  should  consult  it  in  all  my  troubles,  for  every  one  of  which, 
he  told  me,  I  should  find  appropriate  consolation.  I  promised, 
as  well  as  my  smothered  articulation  permitted,  to  obey  his  in- 
structions to  the  letter ;  and,  from  the  feelings  of  that  moment 
deemed  it  impossible  I  ever  could  have  forgotten  or  neglected  them 
I  fear  that  I  have  not  thought  of  them  as  much  since,  as  they  de 
serve.  The  little  Bible  I  still  keep  as  an  affectionate  remem 
brance  of  my  very  good  old  friend.  i 

"  My  cronies,  all  this  time,  had  been  following  me  from  placJ 
to  place. — watching  me  as  I  packed  up  every  article  of  m 
baggage,  and  asking  me  hundreds  of  unmeaning  questions,  out  c 
the  very  fulness  of  their  hearts.  Their  time  came  next.  W 
had  a  general  embrace ;  and  after  shaking  hands  with  ever 
urchin  of  the  school-room  and  every  imp  of  the  kitchen,  I  mountc 
my  plump  nag,  and  on  one  of  those  rich  mornings  of  the  India 
summer,  when  the  sun  struggles  through  a  soft  mist,  and  sparkl. 
on   tlie  Ijoar-frost,   I  broke   ground  on   my  liomeward    voyag 


NED    HAZARD.  59 

Daniel,  with  my  black  leather  trunk  resting  on  his  pommel — to 
be  carried  to  the  tavern  where  the  mail  stage  was  to  receive  it — 
led  the  way  through  the  lane  that  conducted  us  beyond  the  pre- 
cincts of  this  abode  of  learning  and  frolick,  and  I  followed,  look- 
ing back  faint-heartedly  upon  the  affectionate  and  envious  rank 
and  file  of  the  school-room,  who  were  collected  in  one  silent  and 
wistful  group  at  the  door,  with  their  hard-visaged  commander 
towering  above  their  heads,  and  shading  his  brow  from  the  sun 
with  his  hand,  as  he  watched  our  slow  progress.  Every  other 
face,  white  or  black,  upon  the  premises,  was  peering  above  the 
paling  that  inclosed  the  yard,  or  gleaming  through  the  windows 
of  the  kitchen.  Not  a  dry  eye  was  there  amongst  us;  and  I 
could  hear  my  old  master  say  to  the  boys,  "  there  goes  an  honest 
chap,  full  of  gallantry  and  good  will."  In  truth,  this  parting 
touched  me  to  the  heart,  and  I  could  not  help  giving  way  to  my 
feelings,  and  sobbing  aloud ;  until  at  last,  reaching  a  turn  in  the 
road  that  concealed  us  from  the  house,  the  sound  of  a  distant 
cheering  from  the  crowd  we  had  left,  arose  upon  the  air,  and 
wafted  to"  me  the  good  wishes  of  some  of  the  best  friends  I  have 
ever  parted  from." 

After  the  period  referred  to  in  this  narrative,  Ned  was  sent 
to  Princeton.  That  college  was  then  in  the  height  of  its  popu- 
larity, and  was  the  great  resort  of  the  southern  students.  Here 
he  ran  the  usual  wild  and  unprofitable  career  of  college  life.  His 
father  was  lavish,  and  Ned  was  companionable, — two  relative 
virtues  which,  in  such  circumstances,  are  apt  to  produce  a  luxu- 
riant fruit.  He  was  famous  in  the  classical  coteries  at  Mother 
Priestley's,  where  they  ate  buckwheat  cakes,  and  discussed  the 
state  of  parties,  and  where,  having  more  blood  than  argument, 
they  made  furious  bets  on  controverted  questions,  and  drank 
juleps  to  keep  up  the  opposition. 

Amidst  the  distractions  of  that  period  there  was  one  concern 


60  NED    HAZARD. 

in  which  Ned  became  distinguished.  They  were  never  without  a 
supply  of  goddesses  in  the  village,  to  whom  the  students  devoted 
themselves  in  the  spirit  of  chivalry.  They  fell  into  despair  by 
classes  ;  and  as  it  was  impracticable  to  allot  the  divinities  singly, 
these  were  allowed  each  some  six  or  seven  worshippers  from  the 
college  ranks,  who  revolved  around  them,  like  a  system  of  roys- 
tering  planets,  bullying  each  other  out  of  their  orbits,  and  cutting 
all  manner  of  capers  in  their  pale  light.  But  love,  in  those  days, 
was  not  that  tame,  docile,  obedient  minion  that  it  is  now.  It 
was  a  matter  of  bluster  and  bravado,  to  swear  round  oaths  for. 
and  to  be  pledged  in  cups  at  Gifford's.  They  danced  with  the 
beauties  at  all  the  merry-makings,  and,  in  fact,  metamorphosed 
Cupid  into  a  bluff  Hector,  and  dragged  him  by  the  heels  around 
every  tavern  of  the  village. 

As  the  mistresses  were  appurtenant  to  the  class,  they  were 
changed  at  the  terms,  and  given  over  to  the  successors  ;  whereby 
it  generally  fell  out,  that  what  advantage  the  damsels  gained  in 
the  number  of  their  admirers,  was  more  than  balanced  by  the 
disadvantage  of  age.  But  a  collegian's  arithmetic  makes  no 
difference  between  seventeen  and  thirty.  Nay,  indeed,  some  of 
the  most  desperate  love  affairs  happened  between  the  sophomores 
and  one  or  two  perdurable  belles,  who  had  been  besonneted 
through  the  college  for  ten  years  before. 

It  was  Ned's  fortune  to  drop  into  one  of  these  pit-falls,  and  he 
was  only  saved  from  an  actual  elopement  by  a  rare  accident  which 
seemed  to  have  been  sent  on  purpose  by  his  good  genius ;  for,  on 
the  very  evening  when  this  catastrophe  was  to  have  been  brought 
about,  he  fell  into  a  revel,  and  then  into  a  row,  and  then  into  a 
deep  sleep,  from  which  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  shockingly 
mortified  to  find  that  he  had  not  only  forgotten  his  appointment, 
but  also  his  character  as  a  man  of  sober  deportment.    The  lady's 


NED     HAZARD.  61 

pride  took  alarm  at  the  occurrence,  and  Ned  very  solemnly  took 
to  mathematics. 

Now  and  then,  the  affairs  of  this  bustling  little  community 
were  embellished  with  a  single  combat,  which  was  always  regarded 
as  a  highly  interesting  incident ;  and  the  abstruse  questions  of 
the  duello  were  canvassed  in  councils  held  at  midnight,  in  which, 
I  learn,  the  chivalrous  lore  displayed  by  Ned  Hazard  was  a  mat- 
ter of  college  renown. 

Engrossed  thus,  like  the  states  of  .the  dark  ages,  in  the  cares 
of  love,  war,  and  politics,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  the 
arts  and  sciences  should  have  fallen  into  some  disesteem.  This 
period  of  Ned's  life,  indeed,  resembled  those  feudal  times,  when 
barons  fought  for  lady  love, — swaggered,  and  swore  by  their 
saints, — and  frightened  learning  into  the  nests  of  the  monks. 
Still,  however,  there  was  a  generous  love  of  fame  lurking  in  his 
constitution,  which,  notwithstanding  all  the  enticements  that 
waylaid  his  success,  showed  itself  in  occasional  fits  of  close  and 
useful  study. 

It  pains  me  to  say,  that  Hazard's  days  of  academic  glory  were 
untimely  cropped ;  but  my  veracity  as  a  chronicler  compels  me 
to  avow,  even  to  the  disparagement  of  my  friend,  that  before  his 
course  had  run  to  its  destined  end,  he  made  shipwreck  of  his  for- 
tunes, and  received  from  the  faculty  a  passport  that  warranted 
an  unquestioned  egress  from  Nassau  Hall ; — the  same  being  con- 
ferred in  consideration  of  counsel  afforded,  as  a  friend  true  and 
trusty,  to  a  worthy  cavalier,  who  had  answered  the  defiance  of  a 
gentleman  of  honor,  to  "  a  joust  at  utterance." 

Thus  shorn  of  his  college  laurels,  Ned  crept  quietly  back  to 
Swallow  Barn,  where  his  inglorious  return  astounded  the  sooth- 
sayers of  the  neighborhood.  For  awhile  he  took  to  study  like  a 
Pundit, — though  I  have  heard  that  it  did  not  last  long, — and  in 
the  lonely  pursuits  of  this  period  he  engendered  that  secret  love 


62  NED    HAZARD. 

of  adventure  and  picturesque  incident,  that  took  him  upon  his 
celebrated  expedition  round  the  Horn.  But  it  in  no  degree 
conquered  his  mirthful  temper.  His  mind  is  still  a  fairy  land, 
inhabited  by  pleasant  and  conceited  images,  winged  charmers, 
laughing  phantoms,  and  mellow  spectres  of  frolick. 

He  is  regarded  in  the  family  as  the  next  heir  to  Swallow 
Barn ;  but  the  marriage  of  his  sister,  and  soon  afterwards,  the 
demise  of  his  father,  disclosed  the  incumbered  condition  of  the 
freehold,  to  which  he  had  before  been  a  stranger.  He  has  still, 
however,  a  comfortable  patrimony ;  and  Frank  Meriwether  hav- 
ing by  arrangement  taken  possession  of  the  inheritance,  together 
with  the  family,  Ned  has  ample  liberty  to  pursue  his  own  whims  ^ 
in  regard  to  his  future  occupation  in  life.  Frank  holds  the 
estate,  for  the  present,  under  an  honorable  pledge  to  relieve  it  of 
its  burdens  by  a  gradual  course  of  thrifty  husbandry,  which  he 
seems  to  be  in  a  fair  way  of  accomplishing ;  so  that  Ned  may  be 
said  still  to  have  a  profitable  reversion  in  the  domain.  But  he 
has  grown,  in  some  degree,  necessary  to  Meriwether,  and  has 
therefore,  of  late,  fixed  his  residence  almost  entirely  at  Swallowi 
Barn. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PURSUITS    OF    A    nilLOSOrilER. 

From  the  house  at  Swallow  Barn,  there  is  to  be  seen,  at  no  great 
distance,  a  clump  of  trees,  and  in  the  midst  of  these  an  humble 
building  is  discernible,  which  seems  to  court  the  shade  in  which 
it  is  modestly  embowered.  It  is  an  old  structure  built  of  logs. 
Its  figure  is  a  cube,  with  a  roof  rising  from  all  sides  to  a  point, 
and  surmounted  by  a  wooden  weathercock  which  somewhat  re- 
sembles a  fish,  and  somewhat  a  fowl. 

This  little  edifice  is  a  rustic  shrine  devoted  to  Cadmus,  and 
here  the  sacred  rites  of  the  alphabet  are  daily  solemnized  by 
some  dozen  knotty-pated  and  freckled  votaries  not  above  three 
feet  high,  both  in  trowsers  and  petticoats.  This  is  one  of  the 
many  temples  that  stud  the  surface  of  our  republican  empire, 
where  liberty  receives  her  purest  worship,  and  where,  though  in 
humble  and  lowly  guise,  she  secretly  breathes  her  strength  into 
the  heart  and  sinews  of  the  nation.  Here  the  germ  is  planted 
that  fructifies  through  generations,  and  produces  its  hundred-fold. 
At  this  altar  the  spark  is  kindled  that  propagates  its  fire  from 
breast  to  breast,  like  the  vast  conflagrations  that  light  up  and 
purify  the  prairie  of  the  west. 


64  PURSUITS     OF     A     nilLOSOPIIElt. 

The  school-house  has  been  an  appendage  to  Swallow  Barn 
ev€r  since  the  infancy  of  the  last  generation.  Frank  Meriwether 
has,  in  his  time,  extended  its  usefulness  by  opening  it  to  the  ac- 
commodation of  his  neighbors  ;  so  that  it  is  now  a  theatre  where- 
on a  bevy  of  pigmy  players  are  wont  to  enact  the  serio-comic  in- 
terludes which  belong  to  the  first  process  of  indoctrination.  A 
troop  of  these  little  sprites  are  seen,  every  morning,  wending 
their  way  across  the  fields,  armed  with  tin-kettles,  in  which  are 
deposited  their  apple-pies  or  other  store  for  the  day,  and  which 
same  kettles  are  generally  used,  at  the  decline  of  the  day,  as 
drums  or  cymbals,  to  signalize  their  homeward  march,  or  as  re- 
ceptacles of  the  spoil  pilfered  from  blackberry  bushes,  against 
which  these  barefooted  Scythians  are  prone  to  carry  on  a  preda- 
tory war. 

Throughout  the  day  a  continual  buzz  is  heard  from  this 
quarter,  even  to  the  porch  of  the  mansion-house.  Hazard  and 
myself  occasionally  make  them  a  visit,  and  it  is  amusing  to  ob- 
serve how,  as  we  approach,  the  murmur  becomes  more  distinct, 
until,  reaching  the  door,  we  find  the  whole  swarm  running  over 
their  long,  tough  syllables,  in  a  high  concert  pitch,  with  their  el- 
bows upon  the  desks,  their  hands  covering  their  ears,  and  their 
naked  heels  beating  time  against  the  benches — as  if  every  urchin 
believed  that  a  polysyllable  was  a  piece  of  discord  invented  to 
torment  all  ears  but  his  own.  And,  high  above  this  din,  the 
master's  note  is  sounded  in  a  lordly  key,  like  the  occasional 
touch  of  the  horn  in  an  orchestra. 

This  little  empire  is  under  the  dominion  of  parson  Chub. 
He  is  a  plump,  rosy  old  gentleman,  rather  short  and  thick  set, 
with  the  blood-vessels  meandering  over  his  face  like  rivulets, — a 
pair  of  prominent  blue  eyes,  and  a  head  of  silky  hair,  not  unlike 
the  covering  of  a  white  spaniel.     He  may  be  said  to  be  a  man  of 


run  suns   of   a    riiJLosoriiEii.  65 

jolly  dimensions,  with  an  evident  ^,dste  for  good  living  ;  somewhat 
sloven  in  his  attire,  for  his  coat, — which  is  not  of  the  newest, — 
is  decorated  with  sundry  spots  that  are  scattered  over  it  in  con- 
stellations. Besides  this,  he  wears  an  immense  cravat,  which,  as 
it  is  wreathed  around  his  short  neck,  forms  a  bowl  beneath  his 
chin,  and, — as  Ned  says, — gives  the  parson's  head  the  appearance 
of  tliat  of  John  the  Baptist  upon  a  charger,  as  it  is  sometimes 
represented  in  the  children's  picture  books.  His  beard  is  griz- 
zled with  silver  stubble,  which  the  parson  reaps  about  twice  a 
week, — if  the  weather  be  fair. 

Mr.  Chub  is  a  philosopher  after  the  order  of  Socrates.     He 
was  an  emigrant  from  the  Emerald  Isle,  where  he  suffered  much 
tribulation  in  the  disturbances,  as  they  are  mildly  called,  of  his 
much-enduring  country.     But  the  old  gentleman  has  weathered 
the  storm  without  losing  a  jot  of  that  broad  healthy  benevolence 
with  which  nature  has  enveloped  his  heart,  and  whose  ensign 
she  has  hoisted  in  his  face.     The  early  part  of  his  life  had  been 
easy   and   prosperous,   until   the   rebellion    of   1798    stimulated 
his  republicanism  into  a  fever,  and   drove  the  full-blooded  hero 
headlong   into  the  quarrel,  and  put  him,  in  spite  of  his  peaceful 
profession,  to  standing  by  his  pike  in  behalf  of  his  principk^. 
By  this  unhappy  boiling   over  of  the  caldron  of  his  valor  he 
fell  under  the  ban   of  the  ministers,  and  tasted   his  share  of 
government   mercy.     His    house   was   burnt  over   his  head,  his 
horses  and  hounds   (for,  by  all  accounts,  he  was  a  perfect  Ac- 

teon)  were  '•  confiscate  to  the  state,"  and  he  was  forced   to  fly. 

This  brought  him  to  America  in  no  very  compromising  mood  with 

royalty. 

Here  his  fortunes  appear  to  have  been  various,  and  he  was 

tossed  to  and  fro  by  the  battledore  of  fate,  until  he  found  a  snug 

harbor  at  Swallow  Barn  ;  where,  some  years  ago,  he  sat  down  in 


GO  PUIl.^L'iTS      OF      A      I  11  I  LO.SOril  KR. 

that  quiet  repose  which  a  worried  and   badgered  patriot  is   best 
fitted  to  enjoy. 

He  is  a  good  scholar,  and  having  confined  his  reading  entirely  to 
the  learning  of  the  ancients,  his  republicanism  is  somewhat  after  the 
Grecian  mould.  He  has  never  read  any  politics  of  later  date  than 
the  time  of  the  Emperor  Constantino, — not  even  a  newspaper : — 
so  that  he  may  be  said  to  have  been  contemporary  with  -^schines 
rather  than  Lord  Castlereagh,  until  that  eventful  epoch  of  his 
life  when  his  blazing  roof-tree  awakened  him  from  his  anachronis- 
tical dream.  This  notable  interruption,  however,  gave  him  bat  a 
feeble  insight  into  the  moderns,  and  he  soon  relapsed  to  Thucy- 
dides  and  Livy,  with  some  such  glimmerings  of  the  American 
Revolution  upon  his  remembrance  as  most  readers  have  of  the 
exploits  of  the  first  Brutus. 

The  old  gentleman  has  a  learned  passion  for  folios.  He  had 
been  a  long  time  urging  Meriwether  to  make  some  additions  to 
his  collections  of  literature,  and  descanted  upon  the  value  of  some 
of  the  ancient  authors  as  foundations,  both  moral  and  physical, 
to  the  library.  Frank  gave  way  to  the  argument,  partly  to  grati- 
fy the  parson,  and  partly  from  the  proposition  itself  having  a 
smack  that  touched  his  fancy.  The  matter  was  therefore  com- 
mitted entirely  to  Mr.  Chub,  who  forthwith  set  out  on  a  voyage 
of  exploration  to  the  north.  I  believe  he  got  as  far  as  Boston. 
He  certainly  contrived  to  execute  his  commission  with  a  curiou- 
felicity.  Some  famous  Elzivirs  were  picked  up,  and  many  other 
antiques  that  nobody  but  Mr.  Chub  would  ever  think  of  open-; 
ing. 

The  cargo  arrived   at  Swallow  Barn   in   the  dead  of  winter. 
During  the  interval  between  the  parson's  return  from  his  expedi- 
tion and  the  coming  of  the  books,  the  reverend  little  schoolmaster: 
is  said  to  have  been  in  a  remarkably  unquiet  state  of  body,  which 
almost  prevented  hiin  from  sleeping,  and  that  the  sight  of  the* 


PURSUITS     OF     A     niiLosoniER.  67 

long  expected  treasures  had  the  happiest  effect  upon  him.  There 
was  ample  accommodation  for  this  new  acquisition  of  ancient  wis- 
dom provided  before  its  arrival,  and  Mr.  Chub  now  spent  a  whole 
week  in  arranging  the  volumes  on  their  proper  shelves,  having,  ap 
report  affirms,  altered  the  arrangement  at  least  seven  times  during 
that  period. 

After  this  matter  was  settled,  he  regularly  spent  his  evenings 
in  the  library.  Frank  Meriwether  was  hardly  behind  the  parson 
in  this  fancy,  and  took,  for  a  short  time,  to  abstruse  reading. 
They  both,  consequently,  deserted  the  little  family  circle  every 
evening  after  tea,  and  might  have  continued  to  do  so  all  the  winter 
but  for  a  discovery  made  by  Hazard. 

Ned  had  seldom  joined  the  two  votaries  of  science  in  their  phi- 
losophical retirement,  and  it  was  whispered  in  the  family  that  the 
parson  was  giving  Frank  a  quiet  course  of  lectures  in  the  ancient 
philosophy,  for  Meriwether  was  known  to  talk  a  good  deal,  about 
that  time,  of  the  old  and  new  Academicians.  But  it  happened 
upon  one  dreary  winter  night,  during  a  tremendous  snowstorm, 
which  was  banging  the  shutters  and  doors  of  the  house,  that  Ned. 
having  waited  in  the  parlor  for  the  philosophers  until  midnight, 
set  out  to  invade  their  retreat, — not  doubting  that  he  should  find 
them  deep  in  study.  When  he  entered  the  library,  both  candles 
were  burning  in  their  sockets,  with  long,  untrimmed  wicks ;  the 
fire  was  reduced  to  its  last  embers,  and,  in  an  arm-chair  on  one 
side  of  the  table,  the  parson  was  discovered  in  a  sound  sleep  over 
Jeremy  Taj^lor's  Ductor  Dubitantium ;  whilst  Frank,  in  another 
chair  on  the  opposite  side,  was  snoring  over  a  folio  edition  of 
Montaigne.  And  upon  the  table  stood  a  small  stone  pitcher 
containing  a  residuum  of  whisky-punch,  now  grown  cold.  Frank 
started  up  in  great  consternation  upon  hearing  Ned's  footstep 
beside  him,  and,  from  that  time,  almost  entirely  deserted  the 


68  PURSUITS      UF      A      nULOSOPHER. 

library.  Mr.  Chub,  however,  was  not  so  easily  drawn  away  from 
the  career  of  his  humor,  and  still  shows  his  hankering  after  his 
leather-coated  friends. 

It  is  an  amusing  point  in  the  old  gentleman's  character  to 
observe  his  freedom  in  contracting  engagements  that  depend  upon 
his  purse.  He  seems  to  think  himself  a  rich  man,  and  is  continu- 
ally becoming  security  for  some  of  the  neighbors.  To  hear  him 
talk,  it  would  be  supposed  that  he  meant  to  renovate  the  affairs 
of  the  whole  county.  As  his  intentions  are  so  generous,  Meri- 
wether does  not  fail  to  back  him  when  it  comes  to  a  pinch  ; — by 
reason  of  which  the  good  squire  has  more  than  once  been  obliged 
to  pay  the  penalty. 

Mr.  Chub's  character,  as  it  will  be  seen  from  this  description 
of  him,  possesses  great  simplicity.  This  has  given  rise  to  some 
practical  jokes  against  him,  which  have  caused  him  much  annoy- 
ance. The  tradition  in  the  family  goes,  that,  one  evening,  the 
worthy  divine,  by  some  strange  accident,  fell  into  an  excess  in  his 
cups  ;  and  that  a  saucy  chamber-maid  found  him  dozing  in  his 
chair,  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  having  the  bowl  turned  down- 
ward, and  the  ashes  sprinkled  over  his  breast.  He  was  always 
distinguished  by  a  broad  and  superfluous  ruffle  to  his  shirt,  and, 
on  this  occasion,  the  mischievous  maid  had  the  effrontery  to  set 
it  on  lire.  It  produced,  as  may  be  supposed,  a  great  alarm  to  the 
parson,  and,  besides,  brought  him  into  some  scandal ;  for  he  was 
roused  up  in  a  state  of  consternation,  and  began  to  strip  himself 
of  his  clothes,  not  knowing  what  he  was  about.  I  don't  know  how 
far  he  exposed  himself,  but  the  negro  women,  who  ran  to  his  relief, 
made  a  fine  story  of  it. 

Hazard  once  reminded  him  of  this  adventure,  in  my  presence, 
and  it  was  diverting  to  see  with  what  a  comic  and  quiet  sheepish- 
ness  he  bore  the  joke.     He  half  closed  his  eyes  and  puckered  up 


PURSUITS    OF    A    PHILOSOPHER 


GO 


his  mouth  as  Ned  proceeded ;  and  when  the  story  came  to  the 
conclusion,  he  gave  Ned  a  gentle  blow  on  the  breast  with  the  back 
of  his  hand,  crying  out,  as  he  did  so,  "  Hoot  toot, — Mister  Ned  !" 
—Then  he  walked  to  the  front  door,  where  he  stood  whis- 
tling. 


«t 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TRACES  OF  THE  FEUDAL  SYSTEM. 

Virginia  has  the  sentiments  and  opinions  of  an  independent 
nation.  She  enjoyed  in  the  colonial  state  a  high  degree  of  the 
favor  of  the  mother  country  ;  and  the  blandishments  of  her  climate, 
together  with  the  report  of  her  fertile  soil  and  her  hidden  territo- 
rial resources,  from  the  first  attracted  the  regard  of  the  British 
emigrants.  Her  early  population,  therefore,  consisted  of  gentle- 
men of  good  name  and  condition,  who  brought  within  her  confines  < 
a  solid  fund  of  respectability  and  wealth.  This  race  of  men  grewi 
vigorous  in  her  genial  atmosphere  ;  her  cloudless  skies  quickened. 
and  enlivened  their  tempers,  and,  in  two  centuries,  gradually 
matured  the  sober  and  thinking  Englishman  into  that  spiritedil 
imaginative  being  who  now  inhabits  the  lowlands  of  this  state.: 
When  the  Revolution  broke  out,  she  was  among  the  first  of  ltd 
champions,  ardent  in  the  assertion  of  the  principles  upon  whi< 
it  turned,  and  brave  in  the  support  of  them.  Since  that  perioj 
her  annals  have  been  singularly  brilliant  with  the  fame  of  orato^ 
and  statesmen.  Four  Presidents  have  been  given  to  the  Uni< 
from  her  nursery.  The  first,  the  brightest  figure  of  history  ;  tl 
others  also  master-spirits,  worthy  to  be  ranked  amongst  the  great( 
of  their  day.  In  the  light  of  tliese  men  and  of  their  galla^ 
oont^mnoraries,  she  ha?  found  a  glory  *'    stimulate  her  ambitic 


T 11  ACES     OF     THE     FEUDAL     SYr^TEM.  71 

and  to  minister  to  her  pride.  It  is  not  wonderful  that  in  these 
circumstances  she  should  deem  herself  a  predominant  star  in  the 
Union.  It  is  a  feature  in  her  education  and  policy  to  hold  all 
other  interests  subordinate  to  her  own. 

Her  wealth  is  territorial ;  her  institutions  all  savor  of  the 
soil ;  her  population  consists  of  landholders,  of  many  descents, 
unmixed  with  foreign  alloy.  She  has  no  large  towns  where  men 
may  meet  and  devise  improvements  or  changes  in  the  arts  of  life. 
She  may  be  called  a  nation  without  a  capital.  From  this  cause 
she  has  been  less  disturbed  by  popular  commotions,  less  influenced 
by  popular  fervors,  than  other  communities.  Her  laws  and 
j  habits,  in  consequence,  have  a  certain  fixedness,  which  even  reject 
(  I  many  of  the  valuable  improvements  of  the  day.  In  policy  and 
,  I  government  she  is,  according  to  the  simplest  and  purest  form,  a 
■  j  republic :  in  temper  and  opinion,  in  the  usages  of  life,  and  in 
1  (  the  qualities  of  her  moral  nature,  she  is  aristocratic. 
-  j  The  gentlemen  of  Virginia  live  apart  from  each  other.  They 
!  j  are  surrounded  by  their  bondsmen  and  dependents  ;  and  the  cus- 
j  tomary  intercourse  of  society  familiarizes  their  minds  to  the 
relation  of  high  and  low  degree.  They  frequently  meet  in  the 
interchange  of  a  large  and  thriftless  hospitality,  in  which  the 
forms  of  society  are  foregone  for  its  comforts,  and  the  business 
of  life  thrown  aside  for  the  enjoyment  of  its  pleasures.  Their 
halls  are  large,  and  their  boards  ample ;  and  surrounding  the 
great  family  hearth,  with  its  immense  burthen  of  blazing  wood 
casting  a  broad  and  merry  glare  over  the  congregated  household 
and  the  numerous  retainers,  a  social  winter  party  in  Virginia 
affords  a  tolerable  picture  of  feudal  munificence. 

Frank  Meriwether  is  a  good  specimen  of  the  class  I  have  de- 
scribed. He  seeks  companionship  with  men  of  ability,  and  is  a 
zealous  disseminator  of  the  personal  fame  of  individuals  who 
have  won  any  portion  of  renown  in  the  state.     Somotinies,  I  even 


72  TRACES     OF     THE     FEUDAL     ST  STEM 

.1 

think  he  exaggerates  a  litth',  when  descanting  upon  the  prodigic? 
of  genius  that  have  been  reared  in  the  Old  Dominion  :  and  he 
manifestly  seems  to  consider  that  a  young  man  who  has  aston 
ished  a  whole  village  in  Virginia  by  the  splendor  of  his  talents 
must,  of  course,  be  known  throughout  the  United  States ; — for 
be  frequently  opens  his  eyes  at  me  with  an  air  of  astonishment 
whon  I  happen  to  ask  him  who  is  the  marvel  he  is  speaking  of. 

I  observe,  moreover,  that  he  has  a  constitutional  fondness  for 
paradoxes,  and  does  not  scruple  to  adopt  and  republish  any  apo 
thegm  that  is  calculated  to  startle  one  by  its  novelty.     He  has  a 
correspondence  with  several  old  friends,  who  were  with  him  at 
college,  and  who  have  now  risen  into  an  extensive  political  note 
riety  in  the  state : — these  gentlemen  furnish  him  with  many  new 
currents  of  thought,  along  which  he  glides  with  a  happy  velocity. 
He  is  essentially  meditative  in  his  character,  and  somewhat  given 
to  declamation ;  and  these  traits  have  communicated  a  certain 
measured  and  deliberate  gesticulation  to  his  discourse.     I  have 
frequently  seen  him  after  dinner  stride  backward  and  forward 
across  the  room,  for  some  moments,  wrapped  in  thought,  and  the: 
fling  himself  upon  the  sofa,  and  come  out  with  some  weighty 
doubt,  expressed  with  a  solemn  emphasis.     In  this  form  he  lately 
began  a  conversation,  or  rather  a  speech,  that  for  a  moment  quite 
disconcerted  me.     "  After  all,"  said  he,  as  if  he  had  been  talking 
to  me  before,  although  these  were  the  first  words  he  uttered — 
then  making  a  parenthesis,  so  as  to  qualify  what  he  was  going  ti 
say — •'  I   don't  deny  that   the  steamboat  is  destined  to  produci 
valuable  results — but  after  all,  I  much  question — (and  here  h<r 
bit  his  upper  lip,  and  paused  an  instant) — if  we  are  not  bette;|: 
without  it.     I  declare,  I  think  it  strikes  deeper  at  the  supremac; 
of  the  states  than  most  persons  are  willing  to  allow.     This  anni 
hilation  of  space,  sir,  is  not  to  be  desired.    Our  protection  again> 
the  evils  of  oonsolldatidn  consists  in  the  very  obstacles  to  our  ii 


TRACES     OF     THE     FEUDAL     SYSTEM.  73 

tercourse.  Splattertbwaite  Pubbs  of  Dinwiddie — (or  some  such 
name, — Frank  is  famous  for  quoting  the  opinions  of  his  contem- 
poraries. This  Splattertbwaite,  I  take  it,  was  some  old  college 
chum  who  had  got  into  the  legislature,  and  I  dare  say  made 
pungent  speeches.)  Dubbs  of  Dinwiddie  made  a  good  remark — 
That  the  home  material  of  Virginia  was  never  so  good  as  when 
her  roads  were  at  their  worst.*'  And  so  Frank  went  on  with 
quite  a  harangue,  to  which  none  of  the  company  replied  one  word, 
for  fear  we  might  get  into  a  dispute.  Every  body  seems  to  un- 
derstand the  advantage  of  silence  when  Meriwether  is  inclined 
to  be  expatiatory. 

This  strain  of  philosophizing  has  a  pretty  marked  influence 
in  the  neighborhood,  for  I  perceive  that  Frank's  opinions  are 
Yery  much  quoted.  There  is  a  set  of  under-talkers  about  these 
large  country  establishments,  who  are  very  glad  to  pickup  the 
crumbs  of  wisdom  which  fall  from  a  rich  man's  table ;  second- 
hand philosophers,  who  trade  upon  other  people's  stock.  Some 
of  these  have  a  natural  bias  to  this  venting  of  upper  opinions,  by 
reason  of  certain  dependencies  in  the  way  of  trade  and  favor: 
others  have  it  from  affinity  of  blood,  which  works  like  a  charm 
over  a  whole  county.  Frank  stands  related,  by  some  tie  of  mar- 
riage or  mixture  of  kin,  to  an  infinite  train  of  connections,  spread 
over  the  state ;  and  it  is  curious  to  learn  what  a  decided  hue  this 
gives  to  the  opinions  of  the  district.  We  had  a  notable  example 
of  this  one  morning,  not  long  after  my  arrival  at  Swallow  Barn. 
Meriwether  had  given  several  indications,  immediately  after 
breakfast,  of  a  design  to  pour  out  upon  us  the  gathered  rumina- 
tions of  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  but  we  had  evaded  the  storm 
with  some  caution,  when  the  arrival  of  two  or  three  neighbors, — 
plain,  homespun  farmers, — who  had  ridden  to  Swallow  Barn  to 
execute  some  papers  before  Frank  as  a  magistrate,  furnished  him 
with  an  occasion  that  was  not  to  be  lost.     After  dispatching  their 


74  TRACES  OF  THE  FEUDAL  SYSTEM. 

business,  he  detained  them,  ostensibly  to  inquire  about  their 
crops,  and  other  matters  of  their  vocation, — but,  in  reality,  to 
give  them  that  very  flood  of  politics  which  we  had  escaped.  We, 
of  course,  listened  without  concern,  since  we  were  assured  of  an 
auditory  that  would  not  flinch.  In  the  course  of  this  disquisition, 
he  made  use  of  a  figure  of  speech  which  savored  of  some  pre- 
vious study,  or,  at  least,  was  highly  in  the  oratorical  vein.  "  Mark 
me,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  contracting  his  brow  over  his  fine 
thoughtful  eye,  and  pointing  the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand 
directly  at  the  face  of  the  person  he  addressed,  "  Mark  me, 
gentlemen, — you  and  I  may  not  live  to  see  it,  but  our  children 
will  see  it,  and  wail  over  it — the  sovereignty  of  this  Union  will 
be  as  the  rod  of  Aaron  ; — it  will  turn  into  a  serpent,  and  swallow 
up  all  that  struggle  with  it."  Mr.  Chub  was  present  at  this 
solemn  denunciation,  and  was  very  much  afiected  by  it.  He  rub- 
bed his  hands  with  some  briskness,  and  uttered  his  applause  in  a 
short  but  vehement  panegyric,  in  which  were  heard  only  the  de- 
tached words — "  Mr.  Burke — Cicero." 

The  next  day  Ned  and  myself  were  walking  by  the  school- 
house,  and  were  hailed  by  Rip,  from  one  of  the  windows,  who,  in 
a  sly  under  tone,  as  he  beckoned  us  to  come  close  to  him,  told 
us,  "  if  we  wanted  to  hear  a  regular  preach,  to  stand  fast."     We 
could  look  into  the  schoolroom  unobserved,  and  there  was  ouri 
patriotic  pedagogue  haranguing  the  boys  with  a  violence  of  action  i 
that  drove  an  additional  supply  of  blood  into  his  face.     It  was- 
apparent  that  the  old  gentleman  had  got  much  beyond  the  depth  i 
of  his  hearers,  and  was  pouring  out  his  rhetoric  more  from  orator- 
ical vanity  than  from  any  hope  of  enlightening  his  audience.     Ati 
the  most  animated  part  of  his  strain,  he  brought  himself,  by  a 
kind  of  climax,  to  the  identical  sentiment  uttered  by  Meriwether 
the  day  before.     He  warned  his  young  hearers — the  oldest  of 
them  was  not  above  fourteen — "  to  keep  a  lynx-eyed  gaze  upon 


TRACES     OF     THE     FEUDAL     SYSTEM.  75 

that  serpent-like  ambition  wliicli  would  convert  the  government 
at  Washington  into  Aaron's  rod,  to  swallow  up  the  independence 
of  their  native  state." 

This  conceit  immediately  ran  through  all  the  lower  circles  at 
Swallow  Barn.  Mr.  Tongue,  the  overseer,  repeated  it  at  the 
blacksmith's  shop,  in  the  presence  of  the  blacksmith  and  Mr. 
Absalom  Bulrush,  a  spare,  ague-and-feverish  husbandman  who 
occupies  a  muddy  slip  of  marsh  land,  on  one  of  the  river  bottoms, 
which  is  now  under  mortgage  to  Meriwether  ;  and  from  these  it 
has  spread  far  and  wide,  though  a  good  deal  diluted,  until  in  its 
circuit  it  has  reached  our  veteran  groom  Carey,  who  considers 
the  sentiment  as  importing  something  of  an  awful  nature.  With 
the  smallest  encouragement,  Carey  will  put  on  a  tragi-comic  face, 
shake  his  head  very  slowly,  turn  up  his  eyeballs,  and  open  out 
his  broad,  scaly  hands,  while  he  repeats  with  labored  voice, 
"  Look  out.  Master  Ned  !  Aaron's  rod  a  black  snake  in  Old  Vir- 
ginny !"  Upon  which,  as  we  fall  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  Carey 
stares  with  astonishment  at  our  irreverence.  But  having  been 
set  to  acting  this  scene  for  us  once  or  twice,  he  now  suspects  us 
of  some  joke,  and  asks  "  if  there  is'nt  a  copper  for  an  old  negro," 
which  if  he  succeeds  in  getting,  he  runs  off,  telling  us  "  he  is  too 
'cute  to  make  a  fool  of  himself" 

Meriwether  does  not  dislike  this  trait  in  the  society  around 
him.  I  happened  to  hear  two  carpenters,  one  day,  who  were 
making  some  repairs  at  the  stable,  in  high  conversation.  One 
of  them  was  expounding  to  the  other  some  oracular  opinion  of 
Frank's  touching  the  political  aspect  of  the  country,  and  just  at 
the  moment  when  the  speaker  was  most  animated,  Meriwether 
himself  came  up.  He  no  sooner  became  aware  of  the  topic  in 
discussion  than  he  walked  off  in  another  direction, — affecting  not 
to  hear  it,  although  I  knew  he  heard  every  word.  He  told  me 
afterwards  that  there  was  '•'  a  wholesome  tone  of  feeling  amongst 
the  people  in  that  part  of  the  country." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE   BRAKES. 


About  four  miles  below  Swallow  Barn,  on  tlie  same  bank  of 
the  river,  is  a  tract  of  land  known  by  the  name  of  The  Brakes. 
The  principal  feature  in  this  region  is  an  extensive  range  of  low 
lands,  reaching  back  from  the  river,  and  bounded  by  distant  forest, 
from  the  heart  of  which  tower,  above  the  mass  of  foliage,  a  num- 
ber of  naked  branches  of  decayed  trees,  that  are  distinctly  visible 
in  this  remote  perspective.  These  lowlands  are  checkered  by 
numberless  gullies  or  minute  water-courses,  whose  direction  is 
marked  out  to  the  eye  by  thickets  of  briers  and  brambles.  From 
this  characteristic  the  estate  has  derived  its  name. 

A  hill  rises  from  this  level  ground,  and  on  its  top  is  placed  a 
large  plain  building,  with  wings  built  in  exact  uniformity,  and  con- 
nected with  the  centre  by  low  but  lengthened  covered  ways.  The 
whole  structure  is  of  dark  brick,  with  little  architectural  embellish- 
ment. It  was  obviously  erected  wlien  the  ornamental  arts  were  not 
much  attended  to,  although  there  is  an  evident  aim  at  something 
of  this  kind  in  the  fancy  of  the  chimneys  which  spring  up  from  th< 
sharp  gable-ends  of  the  building,  and  also  in  the  conceited  pyramids 
into  which  the  roofs  of  the  low  square  wings  have  been  rearec 
The  artist,  however,  has  certainly  failed  in  producing  cflFect,  if  hii 


THE     BRAKES.  77 

ambition  soared  above  the  idea  of  a  sober,  capacious,  and  gentle- 
manlike mansion. 

Seen  from  the  river,  the  buildings  stand  partly  in  the  shade 
of  a  range  of  immense  lombardy  poplars,  which  retreat  down  the 
hill  in  the  opposite  direction  until  the  line  diminishes  from  the 
view.  Negro  huts  are  scattered  about  over  the  landscape  in  that 
profusion  which  belongs  to  a  Virginia  plantation. 

This  establishment  constitutes  the  family  residence  of  Mr. 
Isaac  Tracy,  known  generally  with  his  territorial  addition, — of 
The  Brakes. 

Mr.  Tracy  is  now  upwards  of  seventy  years  of  age.  He  has 
been  for  many  years  past  a  widower,  and  seems  to  stand  like  a 
landmark  in  the  stream  of  time,  which  is  destined  to  have  every 
thing  gliding  past  it,  itself  unchanged.  The  old  gentleman  was  a 
stark  royalist  in  the  days  of  the  Kevolution,  and  only  contrived 
to  escape  the  confiscation  of  his  estate  by  preserving  a  strict 
and  cautious  neutrality  during  the  war.  He  still  adheres  to  the 
ancient  costume,  and '^  is  now  observed  taking  his  rides  in  the 
morning,  in  a  long-waisted  coat,  of  a  snuff  color,  and  having  three 
large  figured  gilt  buttons  set  upon  the  cuffs,  which  are  slashed 
after  an  antiquated  fashion.  He  wears,  besides,  ruffles  over  his 
hands,  and  has  a  certain  trig  and  quaint  appearance  given  by  his 
tight,  dark-colored  small-clothes,  and  long  boots  with  tops  of 
brown  leather,  so  disposed  as  to  show  a  little  of  his  white  stockings 
near  the  knee.  His  person  is  tall  and  emaciated,  with  a  withered 
and  rather  severe  ext^srior,  A  formality,  correspondent  with  his 
appearance,  is  conspicuous  in  his  manners,  which  are  remarkable 
for  their  scrupulous  and  sprightly  politeness ;  and  his  household 
is  conducted  with  a  degree  of  precision  that  throws  a  certain  air 
of  stateliness  over  the  whole  family. 

He  has  two  daughters,  of  whom  the   youngest  has  already 
counted  perhaps  her  twenty-third  year,  and  an  only  son  somewhat 


78  THE    BRAKES. 

younger.  Catharine,  the  eldest  of  this  family,  has  the  reputation 
of  being  particularly  well  educated ;  but  her  acquirement  is 
probably  enhanced,  in  the  common  estimation,  by  a  thoughtful 
and  rather  formal  cast  of  character, — a  certain  soberness  in  the 
discharge  of  the  ordinary  duties  of  life, — and  a  grave  turn  of 
conversation,  such  as  belongs  to  women  who,  from  temperament, 
are  not  wont  to  enjoy  with  any  great  relish,  nor  perceive  with 
observant  eyes,  the  pleasant  things  of  existence. 

Bel,  the  younger  sister,  is  of  a  warmer  complexion.  Nature 
has  given  her  an  exuberant  flow  of  spirits,  which,  in  spite  of  a  stiff 
and  rigid  education  imposed  upon  her  by  her  father,  frequently 
breaks  through  the  trammels  of  discipline,  and  shows  itself  in  the 
various  forms  which  a  volatile  temper  assumes  in  the  actions  of 
an  airy  and  healthful  girl.  Still,  however,  her  sentiments  are 
what  nurture  has  made  them,  notwithstanding  her  physical 
elements.  She  has  been  accustomed  to  the  cautious  and  authori- 
tative admonitions  of  her  father,  which  have  inculcated  a  severe 
and  exaggerated  sense  of  personal  respect,  and  a  rather  too 
rigorous  estimate  of  the  proprieties  and  privileges  of  her  sex. 
These  girls  early  lost  their  mother ;  and  their  father,  at  that 
period  advanced  in  years,  had  already  parted  with  his  fondness 
for  society.  The  consequence  was  that  The  Brakes,  during  the 
minority  of  the  children,  was  a  secluded  spot,  cut  off  from  much 
of  that  sort  of  commerce  with  the  world  which  is  almost  essential 
to  enliven  and  mature  the  sympathies  of  young  persons. 

Both  Catharine  and  Bel  are  pretty,  but  after  different  models. 
The  eldest  is  a  placid,  circumspect,  inaccessible  kind  of  beauty. 
Bel,  on  the  other  hand,  is  headlong  and  thoughtless,  with  quick 
impulses,  that  give  her  the  charm  of  agreeable  expression,  althougli 
her  features  are  irregular,  and  would  not  stand  a  critical  examina- 
tion. Her  skin  is  not  altogether  clear;  her  mouth  is  large,  and 
lier  eyes  of  a  dark  gray  hue. 


T  H  E     B  R  A  K  E  g  ,  79 

Ralph,  the  brother,  is  a  tall,  ill  made,  awkward  man,  with  black 
eyes,  and  black  hair  curled  in  extravagant  profusion  over  his  head. 
He  contracted  slovenly  habits  of  dress  at  college,  and  has  not 
since  abandoned  them ;  has  a  dislike  to  the  company  of  women, 
fills  up  his  conversation  with  oaths,  and  chews  immense  quantities 
of  tobacco.  He  has  an  unmusical  voice,  and  a  swaggering  walk, 
and  generally  wears  his  hat  set  upon  one  side  of  his  head.  He 
professes  to  be  a  sportsman,  and  lives  a  good  deal  out  of  doors, 
not  being  fond,  as  he  says,  of  being  stuck  up  in  the  parlor  to 
hear  the  women  talk.  Ralph,  however,  is  said  to  be  a  good  fellow 
at  bottom,  which  means  that  he  does  not  show  his  best  qualities  in 
front.  He  is  famous  for  his  horsemanship,  and  avows  a  strong 
partiality  for  Bel  on  account  of  her  skill  in  the  same  art,  which. 
Ralph  says,  comes  altogether  from  his  teaching. 

This  family  has  always  been  on  terms  of  intimacy  at  Swallow 
Barn,  and  of  late  years  their  intercourse  has  been  much  increased 
by  the  companionship  which  has  been  cultivated  between  the 
ladies  of  the  two  houses.  Frank  Meriwether  holds  the  character 
of  Mr.  Tracy  in  great  respect,  and  always  speaks  of  him  in  a  tone 
of  affection,  although  the  old  gentleman,  Ned  says,  is  a  bad 
listener  and  a  painful  talker,  two  qualities  which  sort  but  ill  with 
the  prevailing  characteristics  of  Meriwether. 

There  are  some  points  of  family  history,  affecting  the  relations 
of  these  two  gentlemen,  which  I  shall  find  occasion  hereafter  to 
disclose. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


AN     ECLOGUE. 


You  have  now,  my  dear  Zack,  the  fruits  of  mj  first  experiences, 
here  at  Swallow  Barn,  offered  to  yon  in  a  series  of  sketches, 
which  will,  at  least,  show  you  that  I  have  not  been  idle  in  my 
traveller-vocation  during  my  first  fortnight.  These  labors  of 
mine  will  reach  you  regularly  chaptered  and  ticketed,  after  the 
most  approved  fashion  of  book-making,  and  will  convince  you 
that  I  am  in  earnest  in  my  purpose.  So  far  you  have  been  oiter- 
tained — ^you  see,  I  take  that  for  granted,  assuming  to  myself  the  f 
airs  of  an  author — ^with  a  set  of  pictures  from  still  life — (still 
enough,  even  to  the  point  of  drowsiness,  you  will  say) — a  little 
gallery  of  landscapes  and  portraits,  which,  in  my  judgment,  were 
necessary  as  preliminaries  to  what  I  may  write  in  future.  You 
now  understand  exactly  where  I  am,  and  what  kind  of  good 
people  I  have  around  me,  and  will  be  all  the  better  prepared  for 
the  little  romance  of  domestic  life  which  I  am  about  to  weave  out 
of  my  every-day  occurrences.  What  my  romance  will  come  to, 
it  is  impossible  to  foretell,  as  it  is  to  grow  up  out  of  the  events 
of  the  day.  These  sometimes  naturally  develop  themselves 
through  the  regular  stages  of  a  story  and  a  plot,  but  oftener  run . 
oft"  into  nothing      How  it  is  to  faro  in  my  case,  you  will  find  out 


AN    ECLOGUE.  81 

only  by  the  reading.  So,  abandoning  myself  to  my  destiny  in 
this  particular,  I  resume  my  task  at  this  ninth  chapter,  which, 
being  of  a  bucolical  character,  I  have  entitled  '•  an  eclogue." 


Hazard  and  I  often  take  long  rambles  together — spending  a 
whole  morning,  sometimes,  on  foot.  In  these  idle  wanderings  we 
fall  into  strange  caprices.  The  tide  of  animal  spirits  rises  above 
the  level  which  sober  people  call  discretion,  and  we  are  apt  to 
get,  without  being  aware  of  it,  into  the  empyrean  of  foolery.  I 
believe  many  wise  men,  if  they  would  make  an  honest  confession, 
often  find  themselves  in  such  a  case  ; — the  best  fellows  in  the 
world,  if  not  the  wisest, — and  I  am  not  sure  that  the  best  and 
wisest  are  so  wide  apart,  as  many  think  they  are — but  the  best 
constructed  men,  I  am  quite  convinced,  are  familiar  with  these 
vagaries.  A  genial,  happy  spirit  has  a  great  tendency  to  leap 
out  of  the  circle  of  conventional  proprieties,  and  now  and  then  to 
make  a  somerset.  I  have  read  of  seemingly  very  grave  men 
doing  this, — and  liked  them  the  better  for  it. 

When  Ned  and  I  get  into  the  woods,  it  is  rather  a  favorite 
amusement  to  practise  ludicrous  caricatures  of  the  drama,  which 
Ned  calls  imitations  of  the  most  distinguished  actors.  Some- 
times we  deliver  pompous  harangues  as  if  we  were  in  a  senate, 
and  keep  up  a  debate  in  a  very  impressive  way,  with  abundance 
of  parliamentary  phrase  and  action. 

A  few  mornings  ago,  about  the  first  of  July,  we  found  our- 
selves abroad  on  one  of  these  excursions.  The  weather  was  un- 
usually pleasant  and  Ned  was  more  buoyant  than  I  had  yet  seen 
him,  which  gave  an  unwonted  license  to  the  range  of  his  flights. 
Of  course,  I  became  almost  as  absurd  as  himself — for  it  is  my 
nature  to  take  such  contagions  violently.  We  strained  the 
4* 


82  A  N     t:  C  L  O  G  U  li . 

strings  of  propriety  until  they  were  ready  to  crack.     Our  mad- 
ness ran  this  morning  upon  our  feats  of  singing. 

'•  Mark,"  said  Ned  to  me,  "  I  am  truly  astonished  that  ycu 
can  find  amusement  in  this  preposterous  flourish  of  your  voice. 
Are  you  not  aware  that  you  make  a  dismal  compromise  of  your 
proper  and  inherent  dignity — if  it  is  inherent,  which  I  don't 
believe — by  bawling  in  this  fashion  in  the  woods  1  What  would 
you  think  of  yourself  if  any  sober,  solemn  sort  of  person  should 
happen  to  be  near  and  to  overhear  that  execrable  attempt  at  a 
trill  ?  Your  voice,  especially  in  its  A  sharp  and  its  B  flat,  is  per- 
fectly horrid ;  your  manner  is  bad,  and  your  attitude  altogether 
too  tame.     Now  listen  and  look,  and  be  instructed" — 

Here  Ned  sent  forth  a  vociferous  stave,  which  he  drew  out 
into  manifold  quavers. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  said  he,  with  a  brisk  and  per- 
emptory look,  as  if  he  had  done  something  to  astound  me, 

"  Tut — that's  a  mere  squall — a  servile  imitation  of  Garcia," 
I  replied,  "  It  wants  force,  expression,  majesty.  Lend  me  your 
ears" — 

And  here  I  returned  him  a  flourish,  greatly  improving  on  his 
style. 

"  Mark, — I  see  you  are  vain  of  that.  Perhaps  you  have  a 
right  to  be  until  you  hear  me  again — but  not  afterwards.  So,  sit 
down  and  be  attentive.  Let  me  have  no  interruptions  of  applause 
by  clapping  of  hands — no  bravos.  .  Restrain  your  transports,  and 
bestow  all  your  attention  upon  the  pathos  of  this  strain.  I  chal- 
lenge criticism" — 

With  this  prelude,  Ned  assumed  the  attitude  of  a  hero  of  t 
opera,  pressing  his  hands  passionately  upon  his  bosom,  throwing 
his  elbows  forward  and  eyes  upward,  as  he  poured  forth  a  loud  j 
and  long  bravura  strain,  which  raised  an  echo  in  the  depths  of 
the  wood.     Wc  had,  throughout  this  farce,  adapted  our  vocal  ex- 


al- 

4 


I 


A  N     K  C  L  O  G  IT  E .  83 

travagancies  to  words  not  less  ridiculous  than  the  strain.  Ned, 
in  this  effort,  was  expending  the  force  of  his  burlesque  humor  in 
a  series  of  repetitions,  upon  a  couplet  which  was  inspired  by  a 
lady  whom  I  have  mentioned  in  a  former  chapter.  The  words 
were, 

Bel  Tracy  against  the  field ! 
Against  the  field,  Bel  Tracy ! 

The  name  was  reverberated  through  the  woods  in  a  multitiide 
of  fantastical  trills,  set  off  with  inordinately  theatrical  gestures. 

"  A  merry  morning,  Mr.  Edward  Hazard  !"  said  Bel  Tracy, 
reining  up  her  horse  immediately  at  his  back.  "If  I  am  to  be 
put  against  the  field,  I  should  prefer  to  have  it  kept  secret." 

"  My  sister  Bel,"  said  Catherine,  who  was  also  on  horseback 
close  at  hand,  "  feels  greatly  flattered  by  your  considerate  notice 
of  her." 

'•  The  devil !"  said  Ned,  hastily  glancing  bis  eye  at  me,  '•  What 
a  march  they  have  stolen  on  us  !" 

^'  Decidedly,  a  most  delicate  compliment,"  said  Harvey  Biggs, 
a  gentleman  in  the  train,  "  such  an  unpremeditated  expression  of 
preference  !" 

"  Humph  !"  uttered  Balph  Tracy,  the  fourth  and  last  of  the 
party.  "  You  call  that  singing,  I  suppose,  Ned  ?" 

Ned  was  utterly  confounded  by  this  quadruple  assault,  which 
was  made  not  without  a  spirited  accompaniment  of  laughter. 

This  cavalcade  had  been  galloping  with  noiseless  footfall  along 
the  sandy  road,  until  they  had  got  within  a  short  distance  of  our 
position,  where  they  had  halted  unobserved  and  had  the  full  bene- 
fit of  Ned's  unlucky  essay  at  the  bravura ;  and  as  he  drew  to  a 
close,  they  came  stealthily  upon  our  rear  and  affected  the  surprise 
I  have  related.  Ned  looked  sheepishly  at  the  invaders,  in  a  state 
of  comic  perturbation, — for  no  man  can  stand  such  a  flagrant  ex- 


84  ANECLOGUE 

posure,  even  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  much  less 
when  attended  with  such  aggravation  as  the  personal  reference  in 
this  case  presented — and  after  some  little  time  necessary  to  col- 
lect his  self-possession,  bethinking  himself  of  me  to  whom  the 
whole  company  were  strangers,  he  introduced  me,  saying,  when  he 

had  done  so — 

"  You  have  caught  us,  Bel,  at  our  rehearsal.      Odd  enough 

that  you  should  steal  behind  the  scenes  at  such  a  moment.     I 

have  told  Littleton  all  about  you,  and  how  fond  you  are  of  Italian 

music,  so  we  determined  to  prepare  a  serenade  for  you." 

"  The  music  very  soft  and  sentimental,"  interrupted  Harvey — 

"  Quite  satisfactory,  Edward,"  said  Bel. — "  I  think  we  are  lucky 
in  having  heard  it  here,  as  that  will  save  you  the  trouble  of  repeat- 
ing it  at  The  Brakes.  My  father's  taste  is  not  modern  enough  for 
such  strains.  Isn't  it  a  pity,  Mr.  Littleton,"  she  added,  appealing 
to  me, — "that  Edward  Hazard  should  be  so  merciless  to  his 
friends?" 

"  Hazard  has  already  created  so  strong  an  interest  in  me  to 
make  your  acquaintance.  Miss  Tracy,"  I  replied,  "  that  I  scarcely 
regret  the  ludicrous  accident  which  has  brought  it  about  so  soon." 

"  Forgive  me,  Bel,"  said  Hazard.  "  I  own  lam  the  most 
egregious  bufifoon,  and  the  most  unlucky  one,  besides,  in  the  coun- 
try. Littleton  and  I  have  been  running  riot  all  the  morning — 
but  whether  in  jest  or  earnest,  I  hope  you  will  not  think  the 
worse  of  me  that  you  are  always  uppermost  in  my  thoughts." 

As  he  said,  this  he  approached  familiarly  to  her  stirrup  and 
offered  his  hand,  which  she  took  with  great  kindness.  She  re 
marked  that  they  were  then  on  their  way  to  Swallow  Barn,  and 
would  no  longer  interrupt  our  studies.  Upon  this  she  and  Harvey 
Riggs  rode  forward  at  a  gallop,  Harvey  lookinG;  back  over  liis 
shoulder  and  calling  out — 

"  Ned,  of  course,  I  shan't  report  you  to  Meriwether.  I  shall 
be  tender  of  your  reputation." 


ANECLOGUE.  85' 

"  The  devil  take  his  tenderness,"  said  Ned,  as  they  rode  off; 
"  he'll  make  the  most  of  this." 

Catharine  and  Ralph  followed  more  leisurely. 
Ned  stood  looking  at  the  retreating  party  for  some  moments. 
Bel  was  mounted  on  a  beautiful  sleek  bay  mare,  which  sprang 
forward  with  a  gay,  spirited  motion.  Her  graceful  and  neat  iSg- 
ure  showed  to  great  advantage  as  she  flew  out  of  our  sight  almost 
at  high  speed.  Her  dress  was  a  dark  green  riding  habit,  fanci- 
fully braided  over  the  breast  and  accurately  fitting  her  shape. 
She  wore  a  light  cap  of  the  same  color,  with  a  frontlet  sufficiently 
prominent  to  guard  her  face,  and  over  her  right  shoulder  floated 
a  green  veil  which  fluttered  in  the  breeze  like  a  gay  pennon — but 
not  more  gay  than  the  heart  it  followed. 

"  Was  there  ever,"  said   Ned,  turning  round  to  me,  after  this 
troop  had  disappeared,  '•  was  there  ever  a  more  unlucky  discovery 
than  that !   Of  all  persons  in  the  world,  to  be  caught  in  the  height 
of  our  tomfoolery  by  that  little  elf  Bel  Tracy  !     Just  to  be  taken 
in  the   high   flood   of  our    nonsense !       And    with   lier    name, 
too,  ringing   through   these   grave  and  silent  woods  !     I  should 
scarcely  have  regarded  it  if  it  had  happened  with  any  body  else ; 
but  she  has  such  a  superserviceable  stock  of  conceit  about  ele- 
gance and  refinement  in  her  mind,  that  I  don't  doubt  she  will 
find  in  this  silly  adventure  a  pretext  to  abuse  me  for  the  next 
twelvemonth.     And  then,  she  will  go  home  and  tell  that  stifl:"  old 
curmudgeon,  her  father,  that  I  am  the  very  antipodes  of  a  polished 
man.     Faith,  she  has  said  that  before  !       And  Harvey  Biggs — " 
I  added  Ned,  musing — "  will  not  improve  the  matter,  because  he  will 
I  have  his  joke  upon  it.     And  then  sister  Kate  ! — she  will   pro- 
nounce my  conduct  undignified  : — that's  her  word  :  and  so  will 
Bel,  for  that  matter.     Why,  Mark,  in  the  name  of  all  the  devils  •' 
I  hadn'  t  you  your  eyes  about  you  ?" 

"  Egad,"  said   I,  '=  they  surprised  our  camp  without  alarming 


86  ANECLOGUE. 

the  sentinels.  But  after  all,  what  is  it  ?  They  can  only  say  they 
met  a  pair  of  fools  in  the  forest,  and,  certainly,  they  need  not 
travel  far  to  do  that,  any  day !" 

"  By  the  by,  Mark,"  said  Ned,  changing  his  mood,  and  bright- 
ening up  into  a  pleasanter  state  of  feeling,  "did  you  note  Bel's 
horsemanship, — how  light  and  fearless  she  rides  ?  And,  like  a 
fairy,  comes  at  your  bidding,  too  !  She  reads  descriptions  of  ladie> 
of  chivalry,  and  takes  the  field  in  imitation  of  them.  Her  head  is 
full  of  these  fancies,  and  she  almost  persuades  herself  that  this  is 
the  fourteenth  century.  Did  you  observe  her  dainty  fist,  '  min- 
iardly  begloved,' — as  the  old  minstrels  have  it? — she  longs  to 
have  a  merlin  perched  upon  it,  and  is  therefore  endeavoring  to 
train  a  hawk,  that,  when  she  takes  the  air,  she  may  go  in  the 
guise  of  an  ancient  gentlewoman.  She  should  be  followed  by  her 
falconer." 

"  And  have  a  pair  of  grcyliounds  in  her  train,"  said  I. 
"  Aye,  and  a  page  in  a  silk  doublet,"  added  Ned. 
'•  And  a  gallant  cavalier,"  I  rejoined,  "to  break  a  lance  for  her, 
instead  of  breaking  jokes  upon  her.  I  am  almost  tempted  to 
champion  her  cause,  against  such  a  lurdau  as  you,  myself  But 
let  us  hasten  back  to  Swallow  Barn,  for  our  presence  will  be 
needed." 

After  this  adventure  we  returned  to  the  mansion-house,  with 
some  misgiving  on  the  part  of  JHazard.  He  talked  about  it  all 
the  way.  and  dwelt  somewhat  fearfully  upon  the  raillery  of  Harvey 
Biggs  and  Meriwether,  who,  he  observed,  were  not  likely  to  drop 
a  joke  before  it  was  pretty  well  worn. 

The  servants  were  loading  off  the  horses  as  we  arrived  at  tlu 
gate,  and  the  family,  with  their  visitors,  were  collected  in  the 
porch,  with  all  eyes  turned  to  us  as  we  approached.  There  was  a 
general  uproar  of  laughter  at  Ned,  who  took  it  in  trood  part 
though  v/ith  not  niajiy  words. 


AN     ECLOGUE.  87 

When  the  mirth  of  the  company  had  run  through  its  course, 
Bel  called  Hazard  up  to  her,  and  said : 

"  You  are  a  shabby  fellow,  Edward.  I  have  two  causes  of 
quarrel  with  you.  You  have  not  been  at  The  Brakes  for  a  week 
or  more — and  you  know  we  don't  bear  neglect : — and  secondly, 
I  don't  think  you  have  a  right  to  be  frightening  Mr.  Littleton 
with  my  name,  however  lawful  it  may  be  to  amuse  the  gentle 
geese  of  the  James  River  with  it." 

'•  Bel,"  replied  Hazard,  '•  upon  my  honor,  I  never  was  more 
solemn  in  my  life  than  at  the  very  moment  you  rode  upon  us. 
And  as  to  my  remissness,  I  have  had  no  sentiment  on  hand  since 
Mark  Littleton  has  been  with  me,  and  I  did  not  know  what  I  should 
say  to  you.  Besides,  I  have  a  regard  for  Mark's  health,  and  I 
was  not  disposed  to  interrupt  it  with  one  of  your  flirtations.  He 
is  a  little  taken  already,  for  he  has  been  praising  you  and  your 
mare  ever  since  you  passed  us.  If  he  knew  what  a  jockey  you 
were  in  all  things,  he  would  give  you  very  little  encouragement." 

"  Pray  heaven,"  said  Bel, "  if  he  be  a  virtuous  man,  he  be  not 
spoiled  by  such  a  madcap  jester  as  yourself !  Mr.  Littleton,  I 
hope  you  will  not  believe  Edward,  if  he  has  been  telling  you  any 
thing  to  my  disadvantage; — I  am  never  safe  in  his  hands." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  told  him,  Bel,"  said  Hazard,  getting 
round  close  to  her  ear,  where  he  whispered  what  was  too  low  to 
be  heard. 

"  You  are  incorrigible  !"  cried  Bel,  laughing,  and  at  the  same 
time  shaking  her  riding  whip  at  him.  And  with  these  words  she 
ran  into  the  hall,  and  thence  up  stairs,  followed  by  the  rest  of  the 
ladies. 

'"Isn't  she  a  merry  creature  ?"  said  Ned  to  me,  in  an  affec- 
tionate tone,  as  we  entered  the  door  in  the  rear  of  the  party. 


CHAPTER  X. 

COLLOQUIES, 

The  party  from  The  Brakes  caused  a  great  uproar  within  the 
whilom  tranquil  precincts  of  Swallow  Barn.  The  ladies  had  con- 
gregated in  one  of  the  chambers,  from  whence  might  be  heard 
that  fitful  outbreak  of  exclamation  and  laughter  rising  above  a 
busy  murmur  of  prattle,  which,  as  far  as  my  experience  goes,  is 
characteristic  of  every  gathering  of  women.  Below,  the  hall  re- 
echoed with  the  bluff  greetings  of  the  gentlemen,  the  harsh  tramp 
of  boots  upon  the  uncarpeted  floor,  and  that  noisy,  mirthful  play 
of  frolic  spirits  which  is  equally  characteristic  of  such  assembla- 
ges of  men. 

I  must  say  something  of  Harvey  Riggs.  Picture  to  your 
mind,  a  square-built,  somewhat  sturdy  figure,  of  medium  height, 
or  rather  below  it ;  a  weather-beaten  visage  and  dry  complexion, 
pock-marked  not  a  little ;  the  ripeness  of  forty  brooding  upon  it 
and  hatching  a  little  nest  of  thoughtlings  about  the  eyes,  which 
are  rather  indefinitely  of  a  greenish  gray,  short-sighted  and  spark- 
ling ;  a  small  upturned  nose,  a  large  and  well-shaped  mouth,  an 
uncommonly  large  head,  rendered  slightly  gorgonic  by  a  shock  of 
disorderly  iron-hued  hair  which  curls  upon  the  collar  of  his  coat. 
Add  to  these  a  negligent  style  of  dress,  a  coat  rather  too  large,  a 
black  neckcloth   much  too  loosely  tied,  with  long  ends  pointing 


COLLOQUIES.  89 

towards  each  shoulder,  and  a  curious  variety  of  color  shown  in 
the  several  garments ;  and  you  will  have  all  the  prominent  fea- 
tures of  his  exterior.  You  may  recognize  in  the  blandness  of  his 
manners,  and  the  mellowness  of  his  general  expression,  a  man 
who  has  had  a  full  share  of  conversation  with  the  world  ;  who  has 
seen  it  in  its  pleasant  aspects,  is  familiar  with  revels,  and  has  '•  sat 
up  late  o'  nights,"  and  often  enough  been  caught  by  the  dawn  at 
a  card-table.  His  countenance — I  use  this  word  in  its  ancient 
significance  as  including  his  whole  apparition — though  one  of  un- 
questionable and  almost  unmitigated  homeliness,  is  far  from  dis- 
pleasing ;  which  may  be  ascribed  to  its  perfectly  natural  keeping, 
and  absence  of  all  pretension. 

It  is  not  unusual  to  find  men  of  this  mould  great  favorites  in 
female  society.  AYomen  discriminate  very  shrewdly  in  personal 
qualifications,  and  have  an  instinctive  appreciation  of  a  warm- 
hearted good  fellow,  as  Harvey  is.  Every  body  here  likes  him. 
His  strong  and  earnest  good  sense,  his  learned  skill  in  the  ways 
of  society,  and  a  certain  happy  waggishness  of  temper,  give  him 
great  advantages.  He  is  a  kinsman  of  the  Tracy  family,  and  has 
recently  come  from  Richmond  upon  a  visit  to  The  Brakes,  which 
he  does  very  often,  I  am  told ;  being  fond  of  his  relations  there, 
and  equally  fond  of  Ned  Hazard. 

Some  refreshments  were  placed  upon  the  sideboard  in  the 
parlor  opening  upon  the  hall.  It  is  a  common  custom  here  in 
Virginia,  about  an  hour  before  dinner,  to  prepare  a  bowl  of  toddy, 
which  is  generally  made  of  the  finest  old  Jamaica  spirit,  or  rum 
of  St.  Croix,  and  being  well  brewed  is  iced  almost  to  the  freezing 
point.  This  is  taken  by  way  of  whetting  the  appetite,  which  is 
generally  sharp  enough  without  such  strapping.  But  appetite  or 
not,  this  toddy,  as  I  can  avouch,  is  quite  a  pleasant  thing  to  han- 
dle. Harvey  Riggs  has  a  distinguished  reputation  in  the  concoc- 
tion of  this  beverage,  and  as  it  }vas  now  the  time  of  day  k)  be 


90  COLLOQUIES. 

looking  after  it.  be  was  already  at  the  sideboard  engaged  in  his 
vocation. 

"  Ned,"  said  he,  as  with  a  small  pitcher  in  each  hand  he  was 
busy  in  pouring  his  brewage  from  one  to  the  other,  "  how  far  do  you 
call  it  from  here  to  the  spot  where  we  treed  you  this  morning  ?'' 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  treed  V  asked  Ned. 
.""Where  you  were  caught,  and  couldn't  help  yourself,  and 
looked  so  queer,  when  Bel  heard  you  squalling  her  name  so  fero- 
ciously.    How  far  is  that  from  here  ?" 

"  A  mile  and  upwards,"  said  Ned.  "  Harvey,  you  might  have 
given  us  notice.  I  know  Bel  thinks  it  was  very  unbecoming  in 
me ;  and  so  it  would  have  been  if  I  had  been  aware  she  was 
within  hearing." 

"  Bel,  you  know,  has  rather  stately  notions  of  decorum,"  re- 
plied Harvey,  "  but  for  your  comfort,  Ned,  I  can  assure  you  we 
threw  all  stateliness  to  the  winds  this  morning.  Bel  and  I  rode 
that  mile  in  three  minutes.  There's  a  girl  for  you  !  Poor  cousin 
Kate  followed  us  at  a  demure  gallop,  with  Ralph  grumbling  all 
the  way,  because  she  wouldn't  race  as  we  did.  It  was  '  Bel  Tracy 
against  the  field '  sure  enough.  How  does  that  music  go,  Ned  1 
Let  Meriwether  hear  it." 

"  You  really  did  play  that  prank,  Ned  ?"  said  Meriwether  in- 
terrogatively— doubting  the  story  as  a  mere  jest.  "  Is  it  true 
that  you  were  engaged  in  that  way  with  our  friend  Littleton?" 

"  Perfectly  and  literally  true,  as  you  have  heard  it,"  said  I. 

"  I  am  greatly  astonished,"  returned  Meriwether. 

"  Bel  would  have  astonished  you  more,"  said  Biggs,  '•  if  you 
had  seen  her  flying  this  way  afterwards.  She  thinks  no  more  of  a 
ditch  or  a  moderate  worm-fence,  than  she  does  of  a  demi-semi- 
quaver.     She  goes  over  them  singing. 

"  The  world,  I  fear,  doesn't  get  wisdom  with  age,"  rejoined 
Frapk.  "  I  rather  think  tliis  fantastical  opera-singing — what  do 
you  call  it  Nod  ? — bravura? — which  seems  to  have  turned  the  hcad^ 


UOLLOCiL'IES.  91 

— now,  even  of  such  men  as  Ned  Hazard  here — I  suppose  you 
took  a  hand,  Littleton,  only  from  civility — these  capers  on  the  part 
of  the  men,  and  leaping  ditches  and  fences  by  the  women — I  rather 
think  we  should  have  frowned  upon  such  things  twenty  years 
ago  in  Virginia.  But  manners  change,  morals  change  also  :  the 
tendencies  of  government,  as  Burke  remarks,  in  those  masterly 
reflections  on  the  French  Bevolution  " 

'•I  come  as  an  ambassador  from  The  Brakes,"  said  Harvey 
Riggs,  who  had  been  too  busy  with  his  operations  at  the  side- 
board to  note  .  Meriwether's  lapse  into  the  philosophizing  vein, 
and  which  he  now  broke  in  upon  at  this  critical  moment,  when 
Frank  was  in  the  act  of  mounting  a  favorite  hobby — •'•  I  come  as 
an  ambassador  with  a  commission  from  Mr.  Tracy  to  you.  Here 
is  an  epistle,  as  the  old  gentlemen  terms  it,  directed  to  you, 
Meriwether,  and  which  I  am  to  put  into  your  hands,  '  with  care 
and  speed,'  as  he  was  particular  to  say.  Singleton  Swansdown 
is  expected;  and  arrangements  are  to  be -made  for  the  immediate 
settlement  of  that  interminable  boundary-line  dispute,  which  has 
been  vexed  for  forty  years.  My  good  kinsman,  Mr.  Tracy,  is 
anxious  that  you  should  aid  him  to  expedite  Swansdown's  depar- 
ture, and  I  venture  to  add  my  own  request,  in  the  name  of  charity 
and  all  the  cardinal  virtues,  that  you  will  detain  this  gentle  car- 
pet-knight the  shortest  practicable  time." 

'- 1  devoutly  believe,"  replied  Meriwether,  '•  that  if  this  old 
lawsuit  between  our  families  should  be  brought  to  a  close  by  this 
device. — even  if  it  should  go  in  Mr.  Tracy's  favor, — it  will  cost 
him  some  unpleasant  struggles  to  part  with  it." 

'•It  is  impossible  to  settle  it,"  said  Harvey:  ''  all  the  oracles 
are  against  it.  Mammy  Diana,  who  is  a  true  sibyl,  has  uttered  a 
prophecy  which  runs  thus — '  That  the  landmarks  shall  never  be 
stable  until  Swallow  Barn  shall  wed  The  Brakes.'  Ned,  the  hopes 
of  the  family  rest  upon  you." 

Meriwether  opened  the  letter,  and  read  as  follows : 


92  COLLOQUIES. 

'•  Dear  and  Respected  Friend, — Touching  tlie  question  of  tlie 
lawsuit  which,  notwithstanding  the  erroneous  judgments  of  our 
courts,  still  hangs  in  unhappy  suspense,  I  am  moved  by  the  con- 
sideration urged  in  your  sensible  epistle  to  me  of  the  fifteenth 
ultimo,  to  submit  the  same,  with  all  the  matters  of  fact  and  law 
pertinent  to  a  right  decision  thereof,  to  mutual  friends,  to  arbi- 
trate the  same  between  us  ;  not  doubting  that  the  conclusion  will 
be  agreeable  to  both,  and  corroborative  of  the  impressions  which 
I  have  entertained,  unaltered,  from  the  first  arising  of  this  con- 
troversy with  my  venerated  neighbor,  the  late  Walter  Hazard. 

"  What  stake  I  have  is  insignificant  in  comparison  of  the  value 
of  vindicating  the  ground  on  which  I  have  stood  for  forty  years 
and  upwards,  and  also  of  relieving  our  lineal  and  collateral  kindred 
from  vexatious  disputes  in  time  to  come. 

"  I  have  written  to  my  young  friend.  Singleton  0.  Swansdown, 
Esq.  of  Meherrin, — " 

"  Very  young  !"  interrupted  Harvey, "  almost  as  juvenile  as 
the  lawsuit " — 

"  Son  of  my  late  worthy  kinsman,  Gilbert  Swansdown,  as  a 
proper  gentleman  to  act  in  my  behalf ;  and  late  letters  from  him 
signify  his  ready  pleasure  to  do  me  this  semce.  My  advices  in- 
form me  that  he  will  be  at  The  Brakes  in  this  present  week. 
Although  I  could  have  wished  that  this  arbitrament  should  in 
nowise  fall  into  the  hands  of  lawyers — seeing  that  we  have  both 
bad  reason,  to  our  cost,  to  pray  for  a  deliverance  from  the  tribe — 
yet.  nevertheless,  it  is  not  becoming  in  me  to  object  to  your  nom- 
ination of  Philpot  Wart,  Esq.  who  is  a  shrewd  and  wary  man,  and 
will  doubtless  strive  to  do  the  right  between  us. 

"  I  would  desire,  moreover,  that  it  be  understood  as  a  pre- 
liminary, that  no  respect  shall  be  had  to  the  quibbles  and  law 
quirks  whercfwith  the  courts  have  entertained  themselves,  to  my 
detriment,  hitherto  in  these  premises. 


c  o  L 1 ,  u  <,!  ij  1  l:  s .  93 

"  Praying  t  hat  uuneccssary  delay  shall  not  hinder  the  speedy 
return  of  Mr.  Swansdown,  when  his  occasions  shall  call  him  hence, 
I  beg  leave  to  subscribe  myself, 

Respected  and  dear  Sir, 
Your  very  obedient  and  obliged  servant, 

Isaac  Tracy." 

"  Habit  converts  our  troubles  into  pleasures,"  said  Meriwether, 
as  he  stood  with  this  letter  in  his  hand,  after  he  had  finished  read- 
ing it,  and  now  began  to  descant,  in  one  of  his  usual  strains ; 
"  and  my  old  friend  Tracy  has  so  long  interested  himself  with  this 
inconsiderable  claim — for  it  is  not  of  the  value  of  a  sharpshin — 
one  hundred  acres  of  marsh  land,  which  no  man  would  buy — that, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  would  long  since  have  given  it  up  to  him,  if  I 
did  not  think  it  would  make  the  old  gentleman  unhappy  to  take  the 
weight  of  it  off  his  mind.  Felicity,  sir,  is  an  accident :  it  is  mo- 
tion, either  of  body  or  mind :  a  mode  of  being,  as  the  logicians 
call  it.  Let  the  best  machine  of  man  be  constructed,  with  all 
the  appurtenances  of  strength,  faculty,  thought,  feeling,  and  with 
all  the  appliances  of  competence  and  ease,  and  it  will  rust  from 
disuse ;  the  springs  and  wheels  will  grow  mouldy ;  the  pipes 
become  oppilated  with  crudities,  and  death  will  ensue  from  mere 
obstruction.     But  give  it  motion " 

"  But  what  do  you  think,"  interrupted  Harvey,  '•  of  the  old 
gentleman's  selecting  Singleton  Swansdown  to  reverse  the  decision 
of  all  the  courts  in  Virginia,  with  Philly  Wart,  too,  to  back 
them  V 

'•  The  shrewdest  person,"  replied  Meriwether,  smiling,  and 
bringing  down  his  left  hand  over  his  face,  as  he  threw  his  head 
backward,  '•doubtless  may  be  beguiled  by  his  prepossessions. — 
Singleton's  a  right  good  fellow  after  all ;  and  Mr.  Tracy  has  a 
great  respect  for  him.  growing  out  of  family  connections,  and  his 


94  C  ()  L  L  O  Q  U I E  S .  , 

regulated  tone  of  manners,  which  are  very  kind  and  conciliatory 
to  the  old  gentleman." 

"  But  he  is  such  an  ass,"  said  Harvey,  '•  and  I  had  like  to  have 
blundered  out  as  much,  yesterday  at  dinner,  when  Mr.  Tracy  told 
us  he  was  coming  to  The  Brakes ;  but  happily,  I  was  afraid  to 
swear  before  my  cousin  Kate." 

"  Why  I  dare  say,"  rejoined  Meriwether, ''  Swansdown  will  be 
entirely  competent  to  this  case,  particularly  with  my  friend  Philly 
at  his  elbow,  to  show  him  his  road.  I  have  been  turning  over  in 
my  mind,"  he  continued,  aside  to  Biggs, "  to  contrive  to  give  the 
old  gentleman  the  advantage  in  the  lawsuit,  if  I  can  so  arrange 
it  as  to  let  him  win  it  upon  a  show  of  justice  ;  for  if  he  suspected 
me  of  a  voluntary  concession  to  him,  he  would  not  be  pleased ; 
and,  upon  my  conscience  !  I  find  a  difficulty  in  managing  it." 

"  Can't  our  friend  Wart,  "  said  Harvey,  "  patch  up  a  case 
against  you,  that  shall  deceive  even  Mr.  Tracy  ?" 

"  I  shall  so  instruct  him,"  replied  Meriwether,  '•  and  it  will 
afford  us  some  speculation  to  observe  how  reluctantly  my  good 
neighbor  will  part  with  this  bantling  of  his,  when  it  is  decided." 

"  It  has  been  his  inducement,"  said  Harvey,  "  to  study  the  laws 
of  Virginia  from  beginning  to  end  ;  and  it  has  furnished  him  more 
conversation  than  any  other  incident  of  his  life." 


CHAPTER  XI. 


PRANKS. 


The  dinner  hour  found  our  company  in  that  happy  mood  which 
belongs  to  the  conviviality  of  country  life.  Eager  appetite  and 
that  conscious  health  which  grows  upon  out-door  exercise,  and 
which  brings  cheerfulness  to  the  spirit  as  physical  beauty  brings 
pleasure  to  the  eye, — these  tell  more  visibly  upon  a  party  in  the 
countr}",  than  they  ever  do  in  town.  You  will  never  know  your 
friend  so  welL  nor  enjoy  him  so  heartily  in  the* city  as  you  may  in 
one  of  those  large,  bountiful  mansions,  whose  horizon  is  filled  with 
green  fields  and  woodland  slopes  and  broad  blue  heavens.  Of 
all  the  conditions  of  life,  give  me  ample  country  space,  a  generous, 
wide-sheltering  roof,  and  my  chosen  cronies, — male  and  female, — 
gathered  under  it  at  my  summons  to  spend  weeks  together ! 
Then  horses,  sunshine,  and  pleasant  breezes, — and  a  morning  for 
the  fields  and  the  by-ways  amongst  the  hills,  with  my  little  squad- 
ron of  choice  spirits  to  keep  abreast  with  me  and  my  fantasies  ! 
Then  let  us  have  dinner  with  its  vigorous  appetites : — I  shall  not 
be  particular  in  the  sauces. — And  after  that  the  placid  evening, 
and  the  rich  and  honest  old  books, — or  the  pranks,  I  care  not 
how  boyish  and  girlish. — We  have  no  age  and  no  premeditated 
proprieties  under  my  roof ; — we  go  for  good  fellowship  and  a  little 
harlequinade  now  and  then,     Merrj''  Andrew  is  a  king  in  his  way. 


96  P  K  A  i\  K  S . 

These  are  my  desires.     I  am  glad  to  see  something  of  this  com* 
plexion  here  at  Swallow  Barn,     My  narrative  points  to  that. 

We  ordinarily  dine  about  three  o'clock.  On  the  present  oc 
casion  we  were  two  hours  before  we  left  the  table.  Bel  was  on  the 
top-gallant  of  her  spirits ;  and  Ned  Hazard  seemed  to  have  de- 
voted himself  to  the  task  of  provoking  her  vivacity  by  continual 
assault,  which  had  a  tone,  sometimes,  of  satirical  criticism  upon 
her  imputed  foibles,  and  sometimes  of  doubtful  praise  of  her  im- 
puted perfections,  well  calculated  to  test  her  good  nature  and  to 
increase  the  animation  of  her  defence.  In  both  which  particulars 
she  showed  very  pleasantly,  and  maintained  her  ground  with  a 
skilful  tact.  Ned  evidently  found  a  gratification  in  her  triumphs, 
and  studied  occasions  to  make  them  agreeable  to  herself;  though 
his  manner  was  perilously  destitute  of  that  reverence  and  gentle 
submission  which  all  women  are  pleased  to  exact,  and  which  a 
pretty  woman,  especially,  considers  as  the  least  of  her  dues  from 
our  sex. 

Bel  might  eve^n  have  found  a  pretext  to  be  offended  with 
Hazard,  but  for  the  manifest  good  feeling  which  blazed  up  above 
all  his  raillery. 

Catharine  was  more  prudish  ;  and  Ned  and  Harvey  were  dis- 
creet enough  to  attempt  no  jest  with  her,  that  was  not  as  prudish 
as  herself  I  cannot  say  so  much  for  Hazard, — but  of  Harvey 
Biggs  it  is  quite  observable  that,  under  the  externals  of  a  vola- 
tile, swashing,  trenchant  manner,  he  maintains  a  careful  guard  to 
give  a  complimentary  flavor  to  his  demeanor,  which  rather  wins 
upon  the  self-love  of  his  company. 

Prudence  sustained  her  part  variously,  and  was  alternately 
Bentiniental  and  mettlesome,  thoughtless  or  grave,  as  the  wind 
blew  towards  those  points. 

When  evening  came,  the  tide  of  pleasant  association  was  run- 
ning  so  high  that  it  w\as  resolved  to  be  inexpedient  to   interrupt 


r  li  A  N  K  s .  97 

it  by  separation,  and  accordingly  a  messenger  was  dispatched  to 
The  Brakes,  to  say  that  the  party  would  remain  at  Swallow  Barn 
all  night.  Prudence.  I  observed,  figured  in  the  debate  on  that 
resolve,  and  rather  startled  us  by  repeating  some  lines,  which,  it 
strikes  me,  I  have  heard  before.  They  ran  something  in  this 
wise  : — 

"  Joy  so  seldom  weaves  a  chain 
Like  tills  to-night,  tliat  oh  'tis  pain 
To  break  its  hnks  so  soon." — 

I  am  positive  Prudence  is  not  the  author  of  these  lines — she 
must  have  borrowed  them. 

After  tea,  the  ladies  made  a  concert  at  the  piano.  A  few 
lively  airs  were  so  suggestive  of  a  dance,  that  in  a  short  time  my 
cousin  Lucretia  was  seated  at  the  instrument,  and  our  whole 
company,  except  Meriwether,  was  on  the  floor  capering  through 
alternate  reels  and  cotillons. 

The  children  were  grouped  about  the  room  in  an  ecstasy  of 
delight.  Mistress  Barbara,  who  had  stolen  quietly  into  the 
apartment,  relaxed  her  features  into  a  wormwood  smile,  and  shook 
her  head  at  Harvey  Riggs's  drolleries  ;  and  the  domestics,  young 
and  old,  gathered  about  the  doorway,  or  peeped  in  at  the  win- 
dows. 

The  thermometer  of  mirth  rises  with  the  heat  of  exercise.  It 
was  now  getting  above  the  point  which  society  has  established  as 
the  upper  confine  of  elegant  decorum.  It  was  manifest  that  a 
romp  was  in  the  wind.  The  men  were  growing  too  energetic  in 
their  saltations ;  and  I  am  afraid  I  must  say  that  the  ladies  did 
not  decidedly  discourage  it.  Now  and  then,  indeed,  Cathariner 
bridled  up  and  would  not  allow  Harvey  Biggs  to  give  her  such  a 
gyratory  fling  in  the  reel,  as  he  did  the  others  ;  but  Bel  gave  way 
to  it  like  a  true  child  of  nature,  and  permitted  her  swift-flowing 


98  PRANKS. 

blood  to  guide  her  steps ;  and  Prudence^  at  a  little  distance,  fol- 
lowed her  example. 

In  the  midst  of  this  confused  and  mingled  scene,  Lucy  and 
Victorine  appeared  the  very  personations  of  joy  in  the  graceful 
playfulness  of  their  age  ;  springing  about  with  the  easy  motions 
and  delighted  looks  of  young  novices,  to  whom  the  world  is  a 
sunny  picture  of  pleasure  and  harmony. 

Exhausted,  at  length,  we  took  our  seats,  and  gradually  sub- 
sided into  that  lower  and  more  equable  temper  which  is  apt  to 
follow  violent  excitements.      Harvey  Riggs  and  Ned   Hazard 
were  observed  to  withdraw  from  the  parlor,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  they  reappeared.     In  their  absence  they  had  been  making 
preparation  for  a  melodrama,  which  was  now  announced  by  Rip. 
The  subject  of  this  new  prank  was  '•  tile  Babes  in  the  Wood." 
Rip  and  one  of  the  little  girls  were  to  enact  the  babes ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, in  due  time,  two  candles  were  set  upon  the  floor  to 
represent  the  stage  lights  ;  the  company  were  arranged  in  front ; — 
the  children  were  laid  out,  and  ordered  to  keep  their  eyes  shut ; 
a  piece  of  baize  covered  them,  instead  of  leaves,  and  Rip  raised 
his  head,  for  an  instant,  to  inform  the  audience  that  there  was  to 
be  a  great  storm.     Suddenly  a  servant  came  in  and  put  out  the 
candles, — all  except  the  two  on  the  floor.     This  was  followed   by 
a  tremendous  racket  in  the  hall,  that  was  principally  occasioned 
by  the  -f-iolent  slamming  of  doors,  which  was  designed  to  imitate 
thunder  ;^then  came  a  flash  of  lightning  that  made  our  audience 
start.     It  had  an  amazing  sulphurous  odor  and  a  gunpowder 
haze,  that  produced  some  terror  amongst  the  children.    And  now, 
to  give  a  pcTfect  verisimilitude  to  the  storm,  a  most  dismal  hiss- 
ing and  pattering,  as  of  rain,  assailed  every  ear.       This  was  a 
very  lively  passage  in  the  drama.     It   continued  with  unabated 
violence  for  some  moments,  producing  equal  astonishment  and 
diversion  amongst  the  spectators — but  finally  became  rather  op- 


PRANKS.  "  99 

prcssive  by  a  volume  of  pungent  vapor  which  was  diffused 
through  the  apartment,  and  set  us  all  to  coughing.  In  the  midst 
of  this  pother  of  the  elements,  Ned  and  Harvey  entered,  each 
with  a  huge  sabre  attached  to  his  girdle,  their  faces  smutted  with 
burnt  cork,  and  their  figures  disguised  in  old  uniform  coats  oddly 
disproportioned  to  their  persons.  Here  they  strutted  about, 
making  tragic  gestures  and  spouting  fierce  blank  verse.  The 
rain,  at  intervals,  sank  upon  the  ear  as  if  dissolving  into  mist,  and 
anon  rose  with  redoubled  fury  into  a  kind  of  bubbling  and  boil- 
ing rage  with  increased  pungency.  The  sabres  were  drawn,  and 
the  murderers  were  disputing  the  propriety  of  the  uncle's  famous 
order  to  put  the  babes  to  death,  and  had  already  crossed  their 
weapons  for  a  melodramatic  fray,  when  an  incident  occurred 
which  saved  the  innocents  from  the  fatal  execution  of  their  truc- 
ulent purpose.  The  rain  by  some  unaccountable  mismanagement 
came  suddenly  down  to  a  mere  drizzle,  and  when  the  tempest 
ought  to  have  howled  its  loudest,  dropped  into  entire  silence. 

"  More  rain  !" — cried  Ned,  in  a  stage  whisper,  looking  towards 
the  hall  where  this  department  carried  on  its  operations. 

Instead  of  rain,  however,  came  sundry  distinct  giggles  from  a 
group  of  servants  on  the  outside  of  the  door,  in  the  midst  of 
which  Carey's  voice  was  distinctly  heard — 

"  It's  no  use.  Master  Ned ; — the  frying  pan's  got  cold.  It 
W'On't  make  no  more  noise." 

The  business-like  sobriety  of  this  disclosure  at  such  a  critical 
moment,  raised  a  general  laugh,  which  put  an  end  to  the  traged3^ 
Ned  had  given  orders  to  Carey  to  heat  that  implement  of  the 
kitchen,  to  which  the  old  man  referred,  and  to  bring  it  near  the 
parlor  door,  where  it  was  his  cue  to  supply  it  with  lard,  by  which 
ingenious  device  the  storm  was  to  be  kept  hissing  hot  as  long  as 
it  was  wanted.  This  fortunate  failure  admonished  the  ladies  of  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  and  they  soon  afterwards  bade  us  good  night. 


100  rilANKS. 

The  two  trao;edians  chanored  their  dresses  and  washed  the 
smut  from  their  faces,  and  joined  us  in  a  short  time  on  the  porch 
at  the  front  door,  where  we  found  ourselves  in  a  very  different 

mood. 

The  night  was  calm  and  clear,  and  our  late  boisterous  occu- 
pations inclined  us  with  more  zest  to  contemplate  the  beautiful 
repose  of  nature.  We  sauntered  a  short  distance  from  the  house. 
The  moon  was  up  and  flinging  a  wizard  glare  over  the  tree-tops, 
and  upon  the  old  roof  and  chimneys.  A  heavy  dew  had  fallen 
upon  the  grass,  and  imparted  an  eager  chilliness  to  the  atmos- 
phere. The  grove  resounded  with  those  solemn  invocations  poured 
forth  by  the  countless  insects  of  the  night,  ivhich  keep  their 
vigils  through  the  livelong  hours  of  darkness, — shrill,  piercing, 
and  melancholy.  The  house  dogs  howled  at  the  moon,  and 
rushed  at  intervals  tumultuously  forward  upon  some  fancied  dis- 
turber ;  for  the  dog  is  imaginative,  and  is  often  alarmed  with  the 
phantoms  of  his  own  thoughts.  A  distant  cock,  the  lord  of 
some  cabin  hen-roost,  was  heard,  with  a  clear  and  trumpet-like 
cadence,  breaking  the  deep  stillness  of  this  midnight  time,  like  a 
faithful  warder  on  the  battlements  telling  the  hour  to  the 
sleepers.  Every  thing  around  us  was  in  striking  contrast  with 
the  scenes  in  which  we  had  just  been  engaged.  We  grew  tranquil 
and  communicative ;  and  thoughtless  of  the  late  hour — or  rather 
more  alive  to  its  voluptuous  charm — we  completed  our  «hort 
circuit,  and  had  gathered  again  into  the  porch,  where  we  lay 
scattered  about  upon  the  benches,  or  seated  on  the  door-sill. 
Here,  whilst  we  smoked  segars,  and  rambled  over  the  idle  topics 
that  played  in  our  thoughts,  Harvey  Iliggs  engaged  himself  in 
preparing  a  sleeping  draught  of  that  seductive  cordial  which 
common  fame  lias  celebrated  as  the  native  glory  of  Virginia.  It 
is  a  vulgar  error,  Harvey  contends,  to  appropriate  the  mint  sling 
to  the  morning.     "  It  is,"  he  remarked  with  solemn  emphasis 


PRANKS.  101 

"  the  homologous  peculiar  of  the  night, — the  rectifier  of  the 
fancy, — the  parent  of  pleasant  dreams, — the  handmaid  of  diges- 
-tion, — and  the  lullaby  of  the  brain :  iu  its  nature  essentially 
anti-roral ;  friendly  to  peristaltics  and  vermiculars :  and,  in  its 
influence  upon  the  body,  jocund  and  sedative."  I  have  recorded 
Harvey's  words,  because  in  this  matter  I  conceive  him  to  be  high 
authority. 

Upon  this  subject  Harvey  is  eloquent,  and  whilst  we  sat 
listening  to  his  learned  discriminations  in  the  various  processes 
of  this  manufacture,  our  attention  was  suddenly  drawn  to  another 
quarter  by  the  notes  of  a  banjoe,  played  by  Carey  in  the  court-, 
yard.  He  was  called  up  to  the  door,  and,  to  gratify  my  curiosity 
to  hear  his  music,  he  consented  to  serenade  the  ladies  under  their 
windows.  Carey  is  a  minstrel  of  some  repute,  and,  like  the 
ancient  jongeleurs,  he  sings  the  inspirations  of  his  own  muse, 
weaving  into  song  the"  past  or  present  annals  of  the  family.  He 
is  considered  as  a  seer  amongst  th^  negroes  on  the  estate,  and  is 
always  heard  with  reverence.  The  importance  this  gives  him, 
renders  the  old  man  not  a  little  proud  of  his  minstrelsy.  It 
required,  therefore,  but  little  encouragement  to  set  him  ofi":  so, 
after  taking  a  convenient  stand,  and  running  his  fingers  over  his 
rude  instrument  by  way  of  prelude,  he  signified  his  obedience  to 
our  orders. 

The  scene  was  quite  picturesque.  Carey  was  old,  his  head 
was  hoary,  and  now  borrowed  an  additional  silver  tint  from  the 
moonbeam  that  lighted  up  his  figure.  Our  eager  group,  which 
stood  watching  him  from  the  midst  of  the  rose  bushes  in  which 
we  were  partly  embowered :  the  silent  hour,  interrupted  only  by 
the  murmur  of  the  occasional  breeze ;  the  bevy  of  idle  dogs  that 
lay  scattered  over  the  ground ;  the  mistiness  of  the  distant  land- 
scape ;  and  the  venerable  mass  of  building,  with  its  alternate 
faces  of  light  and  shade,  formed  a  combination  of  images  and 
circumstances  that  gave  a  rich  impression  to  our  feelinp-s. 


.102  PRANKS. 

C'dvej,  for  a  moment,  tuned  his  instrument  with  the  airs  of  a 
professor,  smiled,  and  looking  round  to  Hazard,  asked,  in  a  half 
whisper,  "  What  shall  I  play,  Master  Ned  ?" 

"What  you  like  best,  Carey." 

"  Well,"  said  Carey,  striking  off  a  few  notes,  "I'll  try  this :" 

The  rich  man  comes  from  down  below, 

Yo  ho,  yo  ho. 
What  he  comes  for  I  guess  I  know, 

Long  time  ago. 
He  comes  to  talk  to  the  young  lady, 

Yo  ho,  yo  ho. 
But  she  look'd  proud,  and  mighty  high. 

Long  time  ago. 

And  in  this  strain,  clothed  in  his  own  dialect,  he  proceeded  to 
rehearse,  in  a  doggerel  ballad,  sung  with  a  chant  by  no  means 
inharmonious,  the  expected  arrival  of  Swansdown  at  The  Brakes, 
and  the  probable  events  of  his  visit,  which,  he  insinuated,  would 
be  troublesome  to  Ned  Hazard,  and  would,  as  the  song  went, 

"  Make  him  think  so  hard  he  couhln't  sleep." 

"Can't  you  give  us  something  better  than  that?"  interrupted 
Ned. 

"  Ah !  that  makes  you  very  sore  there,  master  Ned  Hazard," 
said  the  old  negro,  putting  his  hand  on  Ned's  breast. 

"  Tut !"  replied  Ned,  "  you  croak  like  a  frog  to-night." 

"  Give  us  '  Sugar  in  a  Gourd'  or  '  Jim  Crow,'  "  cried  lialph — 
referring  to  two  popular  dances  well  known  in  this  region,  and 
for  the  execution  of  which  Carey  has  some  reputation. 

"  I've  got  a  dream  for  you.  Master  Ned,"  said  Carey,  with  the 
modest  chuckle  of  a  composer  exhibiting  his  own  music.  "  May 
be  you'd  like  to  hear  that?"  We  encouraged  him,  and  the 
minstrel  struck  up  another  kind  of  rattling  air  whicli  went  at  a 


PRANKS.  103 

jangling  gallop  on  his  banjoe,  accompanied  by  an  improvisation 
in  the  same  style  as  that  which  we  had  just  heard. 

It  will  not  do  to  give  his  words,  which,  without  the  aid  of  all 
the  accessories,  the  figure  of  the  old  man  himself,  and  the  rapid 
twang  of  his  banjoe,  and  especially  the  little  afifectations  of  his 
professorial  vanity,  would  conve}^  but  a  bald  impression  of  the 
serio-comic  eflect  the  whole  exhibition  had  upon  us.  The  purport 
of  this  recitative  strain  was,  that  as  he,  the  bard,  lay  sleeping  in 
his  cabin,  a  beautiful  lady  appeared  to  him,  in  the  dead  of  night, 
and  told  him  that  he  must  instruct  his  young  master,  when  he 
went  a  wooing,  that  there  were  three  things  for  him  to  learn : 
he  must  never  believe  his  mistress  to  be  light  of  heart  because 
she  laughed  at  him  ;  nor,  that  she  was  really  offended  when  she 
looked  angry  at  him  ;  and  lastly,  that  he  was  not  to  be  disheart- 
ened by  a  refusal,  as  that  was  no  proof  she  would  not  have 
him  :  that  women  were  naturally  very  contrary,  and  must  be 
interpreted  by  opposites. 

"  Carey  is  a  true  seer,"  said  Harvey  Riggs,  when  the  old  man 
had  finished,  "  and  brings  us  great  encouragement,  Ned.  Now, 
old  gentleman,  you  have  done  your  duty,  and  as  you  dream  so 
well,  come  in  and  you  shall  have  something  to  put  you  to  sleep, 
that  you  may  try  it  again — and  there's  something  to  cross  your 
palm  with." 

The  old  negro  was  brought  into  the  parlor,  where  Harvey 
regaled  him  with  a  glass  of  the  julep  he  had  been  making. 

"  God  bless  you,  master  Harvey,  and  young  masters  all !" 
said  Carey,  with  a  polite  and  gentleman-like  gesture,  and  with  a 
smile  of  the  utmost  benignity.  "  Good  night,  gemmen,"  he  added, 
as  he  retired  with  many  formal  bows. 

We  now  betook  ourselves  to  our  chambers,  whence,  for  some 
time  after  I  had  got  to  bed,  I  could  hear  the  negroes  dancing 
jigs  to  Carey's  banjoe  in  the  court-yard.     In   the  midst  of  these 


104  PRANKS.  J 

I 

noises  I  fell  asleep— thus  terminating  a  day  that  had  been 
marked  by  a  succession  of  those  simple  pastimes  which  give  such 
an  agreeable  relish  to  country  life,  and  which  the  gravest  man, 
I  think,  would  be  over-wise  to  find  fault  with. 


i 


CHAPTER  XII. 


A     CONFESSION. 


j  The   ladies   bad   announced   tlieir  intention  to  return  to    The 

j  Brakes  before  breakfast.     Accordingly,  the  next  morning,  soon 

:  i  after  daybreak,  the  courtyard  was  alive  with  the  stir  of  prepara- 

[  i  tion,  and  by  the  time  the  sun  was  up,  horses,  dogs,  and  servants 

filled  the  inclosure  with  a  lively  bustle,  and  the  inmates  of  the 

I  house  thronged  the  door  and  porch.     Bel,  with  the  wholesome 

I  j  bloom  of  the  morning  on  her  cheek,  exhibited  that  flow  of  buoy- 
.  'ant  good-humor  which  naturally  belongs  to  a  young  and  ardent 
.  I  girl,  and  more  signally  when  she  is  conscious  of  being  an  object 

I I  of  admiration.     She  danced  about  the  hall,  and  sang  short  pas- 
sages from  songs  with  a  sweet  and  merry  warbling. 

"We  owe  you  our  thanks,  gentlemen,"  she  said,  "for  Mr. 
Carey's  saucy  ballad  last  night.  Cousin  Harvey,  I  set  down  all 
ithe  impertinence  of  it  to  you.  You  have  such  a  wicked  con- 
Iscience  that  you  can't  sleep  yourself,  and  you  seem  to  be  resolved 
inobody  else  shall." 

"  Ah  Bel,"  replied  Harvey,  "  Ned  has  spoiled  your  taste  for 
simple  melodies,  by  those  Italian  graces  of  his." 

"  Not  a  word,  you  monster — but  help  me  to  my  horse.  I 
'mean  to  get  away  from  this  house  as  quickly  as  I  can ;  and  when 
I  have  you  on  the  road  I  will  tell  you  a  piece  of  my  mind.  With 
5* 


106  A     CONFESSION. 

such  a  swift  foot  under  me,  you  know  I  can  run  away  from  yon, 
if  you  get  angry." 

Ned  Hazard  advanced,  somewhat  officiously,  to  lead  the  ani 
mal  which  Bel  was  to  mount,  to  the  steps — 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  Edward,  that's  Harvey's  business.  I 
have  trained  him  to  it. — Now,  Mr.  Cavalier,  your  hand." 

Harvey  came  round  to  the  stirrup  side  of  the  mare,  and  stoop- 
ing down,  whilst  he  locked  his  two  hands  so  as  to  form  a  step — 

"  Your  left  foot — so — bear  on  my  shoulder.  There  you  are," 
he  said,  as  he  tossed  her  lightly  into  the  saddle. 

"  It  isn't  every  one  can  do  that  as  well  as  Harvey,"  said  Bt^ 
by  way  of  apology  to  Ned  for  refusing  his  assistance,  which  she 
saw  had  a  little  discomfited  him.     "Bring  Mr.  Littleton,  Edward, 
to  see  us,  and  you  shall  have  the  privilege  of  another  rehearsal,  if' 
you  like." 

"  I  am  afraid," — replied  Ned,  "  that  I  have  practised  too  many 
antics  already,  to  keep  your  favor.  But  you  shall  see  us  before 
long  ;  and  I  mean  henceforth  to  be  very  grave." 

"  Good  bye  !" — said  Bel — "  the  sun  is  beforehand  with  us.— 
"  Now  Grace," — she  added  in  a  lively  tone,  to  the  petted  anima 
on  which  she  rode — "Forward!"     The  mare  rose  on  her  hir 
legs  with  an  active  motion,  and  sprang  away  at  a  brisk  spec 

Catharine  had  all  this  time  been  quietly  mounting  by  the  ;: 
of  a  chair,  and  talking  in  a  subdued  voice  to  Prudence.     She  n< 
said  some  amiable  things  at  parting,  repeated  the  invitation 
Hazard  and  myself  to  The  Brakes,  and  rode  forward  Vith  becon 
ing  propriety  of  gait,  attended  by  Ralph.     Harvey  followed  clos 
upon  the  track  of  Bel,  and  whilst  the  sun's  rays  yet  smote  tli 
fields  in  level  lines,  the  equestrians  were  out  of  sight. 

After  breakfast  I  found  Hazard  sitting  on  the  bench  at  t' 
front  door,  examining  a  box  of  fishing  tackle.  Some  rods  woi 
leaned  against  one  of  the  pillars   of  the  porch,  and  Rip,  with 


A    0  o  i\  F  i:  s  s  I  o  N .  !  07 

little  ape-faced  negro,  was  officiously  aiding  in  the  inspection  of 
the  lines,  and  teasing  Ned  with  a  hundred  questions.  These  two 
wanted  to  know  how  far  it  entered  into  his  design  to  take  them 
with  him,  if  he  meant  to  go  fishing.  He  told  me  that  as  the  day 
looked  well  for  it,  he  thought  we  might  find  some  pastime  with 
our  rods  in  a  ramble  over  the  brook.  Rip  and  his  flat-nosed 
compeer,  the  little  black. — who  seemed  to  think  it  was  his  busi- 
ness to  take  charge  of  Rip — were,  of  course,  to  accompany  us. 
To  make  them  useful,  Hazard  dispatched  them  both  to  get  us 
some  bait.  Away  they  went — Rip,  at  a  bound,  across  the  railing 
of  the  porch,  and  Beelzebub — this  was  Ned's  nickname  for  the 
other — down  the  steps,  with  a  mouth  distended  from  ear  to  ear, 
cutting  all  manner  of  capers  over  the  grass.  In  a  few  moments 
the  latter  was  on  his  way  to  the  stable  with  a  long-handled  hoe 
over  his  shoulder,  and  a  small  tin  vessel  to  collect  worms,  whilst 
Rip  was  making  a  foray  upon  the  grasshoppers,  and  flapping  down 
his  much-abused  beaver  upon  them  with  a  skill  that  showed  this 
to  be  a  practised  feat. 

A  brief  delay  brought  in  our  active  marauders  with  an  abun- 
dant spoil,  and  we  then  set  forth  on  our  expedition,  each  pro- 
vided with  a  long  rod  and  its  appropriate  tackle — our  young  at- 
tendants shouldering  their  weapons  and  strutting  before  us  with 
amazing  strides  and  important  faces — jabbering  unceasingly  all 
the  way. 

Ned  seemed  inclined  to  be  serious  ;  and  I  soon  perceived  that 
he  wanted  to  make  me  his  confidant, — I  had  already  guessed  upon 
what  point.  He  talked,  as  we  loitered  along  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  about  Harvey  Riggs,  Catharine,  Ralph,  old  Mr.  Tracy — 
about  every  body  but  Bel — except  a  slight  allusion  to  her  once 
or  twice,  and  in  the  most  casual  and  apparently  accidental  man- 
ner. It  was  a  touch-and-go  manner  which  spoke  volumes.  I  saw 
that  he  wanted  me  to  talk  of  her,  and  I  was  malicious  enough  not 


108  A     CONFESSION. 

to  understand  him.  It  was  very  evident  that  I  was  soon  to  have 
a  revelation. 

Ned,  of  course,  is  in  love  with  Bel.  Any  one  might  see  that, 
in  the  first  five  minutes  he  should  find  them  together.  It  is  no- 
torious to  the  whole  family,  and  I  believe  to  all  the  inhabitants 
in  these  parts — as  much  as  any  piece  of  country  gossip  can  be.  I 
had  no  doubt  of  it,  even  before  we  were  surprised  in  our  hurletta 
on  the  road.  Rip,  who  is  inconveniently  shrewd  in  these  mat- 
ters, took  occasion  this  morning,  just  after  the  ladies  left  us  on 
their  return  to  the  Brakes,  to  whisper  to  me,  as  we  entered  the 
breakfast  roomj — "  Uncle  Ned  wanted  mightily  to  lift  Bel  to  her 
horse,  because  he  likes  the  very  ground  she  walks  on."  And  Har- 
vey Biggs  doesn't  mince  matters  when  he  speaks  of  it — and  old 
Carey  had  twisted  it  into  rhyme  that  no  one  could  misunderstand. 
Yet,  strange  as  it  may  be,  Ned,  with  all  these  proofs  against  him, 
was  such  an  owl  as  to  think  I  had  no  suspicion  of  such  a  thing, 
or,  in  fact,  that  it  was  a  secret  to  any  body. 

The  transparency  of  Hazard's  character,  or  what  I  might  bet- 
ter call  his  unconscious  frankness,  gives  a  little  coloring  of  comic 
extravagance  to  his  endeavor  to  conceal  his  feelings.  He  is  a 
man  who  can  no  more  hold  a  secret  than  a  crystal  decanter  can 
hold  wine  invisible.  His  efi"ort  to  disguise  his  admiration  for  Bel 
has,  in  truth,  been  somewhat  perilous  in  this  afi'air,  by  inducing 
him  to  counterfeit  a  rather  disparaging  iudifi'erence  in  his  de- 
meanor towards  her.  This  is  the  source  of  his  inexpert  and  ill- 
timed  raillery,  his  falling  pell-mell  upon  her  foibles,  and  alarming 
her  pride,  and  making  jests  upon  points  which  women  are  gene- 
rally apt  to  take  without  complaisance — even  in  ill  part,  some- 
times. Instead  of  frequenting  the  society  of  his  mistress,  as  more 
skilful  lovers  would  do,  he  is  careful  to  regulate  his  approaches 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  avoid  all  suspicion  of  particular  intimacy. 
His  walks  and  rides,  it  is  true,  tend  instinctively  in  the  direction 


ACONFESSION.  I09 

of  The  Brakes,  and  he  is  seen  often  enougli  taking  an  observation 
of  the  house  and  grounds,  and  traversing  up  and  down  the  roads 
,  that  lead  thither  ;  but  his  heart  fails  him  at  the  gate,  and  he  does 
I  not  go  through  it  even  once  in  a  week,  unless  somebody  can  make 
j  a  matter  of  business  for  him  to  go  there  ;  and  then  he  is  as  bold 
j  as  a  lion.  '  What's  our  duty,' — as  he  very  cogently  reasons,  in 
such  conjunctures,  '  must  be  done  at  all  hazards,  regardless  of 
consequences.'  Ned,  I  observe  also,  loses  his  intrepidity  in  Bel's 
presence,  which  makes  him  awkward  in  his  attentions.  And 
then,  again,  he  seems  to  have  an  unfortunate  tendency — I  might 
almost  describe  it  as  a  destiny — to  present  himself  to  her  under 
those  drawbacks  which  most  shock  her  conceptions  of  the  decorum 
she  is  inclined  to  expect  from  a  lover.  Our  woodland  extravaganza 
— the  burlesque  melodrama  of  the  last  night,  I  perceived,  notwith- 
standing her  laughing  at  them,  were  neither  of  them  exactly  con- 
sonant with  her  ideas  of  dignified  sportiveness.  She  has  a  vein  of 
romance  in  her  composition  which  engenders  some  fastidious  no- 
tions touching  propriety  of  manners,  and  gives  her — if  I  can  trust 
Hazard's  opinion,  which  I  find  confirmed  in  what  I  have  seen — a 
predilection  for  that  solemn  foppery  which  women  sometimes  im- 
agine to  be  refinement, — and  of  which  Ned  has  not  the  slightest 
infusion. 

Bel's  temper  naturally  is  most  uncongenial  with  these  pre- 
tensions, as  she  constantly  shows  when  ofi"  her  guard  ; — but  by  a 
certain  ply  of  her  mind,  got  perhaps  in  some  by-path  of  educa- 
tion, or  nurtured  by  a  fanciful  conceit,  or  left  upon  her  memory 
amongst  the  impressions  of  some  character  she  has  been  taught 
to  admire,  or,  peradventure,  being  the  physical  disclosure  in  her 
organization  of  some  peculiarly  aristocratic  drop  of  blood  in- 
herited from  some  over-stately  grandam,  and  reappearing  at  the 
surface  after  the  lapse  of  a  century  ; — from  whatever  cause  pro- 
duced— she  has  taught  herself  to  consider  an  orderly,  measured, 
graceful  movement,  a  choice  adaptation  of  language,  reverence  of 


110  A     CONFESSION. 

deportment,  and,  above  all,  entire  devotedness,  essential  to  the 
composition  of,  what  she  terms,  a  refined  gentleman — a  character 
which  runs  a  fair  risk  of  being  set  down  in  the  general  opinion  as 
sufficiently  dull  and  insipid.  Bel  overlooks  the  total  absence  of 
these  gifts  in  Harvey  Riggs,  and  says  his  playfulness  (she  uses  a 
soft  expression)  is  quite  delightful.  I  explain  this  anomaly  by 
the  fact  that  Harvey  is  entirely  out  of  the  question  as  a  lover ; 
and  that  Bel  has  unwarily  permitted  her  nature  to  counsel  her 
opinion  in  Harvey's  case  ;  by  reason  of  which,  her  good-humored 
cousin  has  taken  the  citadel  of  her  favor  by  surprise.  Ned 
Hazard  she  regards  in  quite  a  difi'erent  light.  Her  sentinels  are 
all  at  their  posts  when  he  makes  a  demonstration. 

I  sometimes  think  there  is  a  little  spleen  at  the  bottom  of 
Ned's  treatment  of  Bel,  a  momentary  sub-acid  fretfulness,  occa- 
sioned by  her  professing  to  hold  in  estimation  the  grave  and 
empty  pedantry  of  Singleton  Swansdown,  the  very  model  of  a 
delicate  and  dainty  gentleman.  Bel  says,  '•  he  is  so  like  the  hero 
of  a  novel ;"  which  Ned  has  once  or  twice  repeated  to  me,  with 
the  remark,  that  it  was  "  cursed  fudge."' 

I  have  said  enough,  in  the  way  of  composition  of  Ned's  char- 
acter and  of  the  queer  condition  of  his  love  affair,  as  well  as  of 
the  quality  of  his  mistress,  to  preface  the  account  I  am  about  to 
give  of  our  conversation  on  the  fishing  excursion. 

We  had  reached  a  wide-spreading  old  sycamore  on  the  bank 
of  the  brook,  and  had  thrown  our  lines  into  a  deep  pool  which 
eddied  under  the  roots  of  the  tree,  and  where  we  had  reason  to 
expect  some  luck  to  our  angling.  Here  we  seated  ourselves  on 
the  grass  in  the  shade.  I  found  that  I  was  advancing  in  Ned's 
confidence.  He  was  restless,  and  not  very  attentive  to  his  rod, 
and  somewliat  thirsty,  for  he  drank  at  the  brook  twice. — T  was 
perfectly  dull  of  apprehension,  and  asked  the  most  simple  ques- 
tions. I  was  determined  to  give  him  no  help,  at  least  for  the 
present.     It  is  strange,  but  it  is  universally  true,  that  no  man  of 


A     CONFESSION.  IH 

sober  sense, — no  sensible,  well-ordered  man,  I  mean — can  with  a 
calm  and  composed  face  disclose  the  fact  of  his  being  in  love- 
even  to  his  most  intimate  friend.  Mankind  always  seem  to  treat 
this  very  natural  incident  of  one's  life  as  a  foolish  thing  ;  and  a 
man,  therefore,  looks  or  feels  like  a  fool, — attempt  the  disclosure 
when  he  will. 

'•  Mark  " — said  Ned,  in  a  rather  abrupt  transition  from  a  lit- 
erary topic  we  had  been  discussing,  and  which  I  had  myself  pro- 
posed in  a  mischievous  humor  to  baulk  a  previous  advance  to  the 
matter  that  was  weighing  upon  his  mind, — ''  Mark  " — and  here 
was  a  slight  pause  and  some  visible  perturbation, — '•  don't  you 
think  Bel  Tracy  a  very  lively  girl  V 

'•  Don't  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Very  lively,"  replied  Ned.  "  How  would  you  like  to  make 
a  visit  to  the  Brakes  ?" 

"  Do  you  visit  there  much,  Ned  ?" 

"Occasionally;  Bel  rather  reproaches  me  for  not  coming  as 
often  as  I  ought,  perhaps." 

"  Rather  a  dull  house,  I  should  think,  for  a  visit :  the  old 
gentleman,  I  understand,  is  very  formal,"  said  I. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  Ned,  "  a  very  pleasant  family. 
I  should  like  to  take  you  there, — Bel's  a  great  favorite  with  her 
father.  I — I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  her :" — a  pause  in  which 
Ned  looked  a  little  queer. — "  That  slippery  little  gudgeon  !" — 

"  Who?"  said  I,  "  you  don't  mean  to  call  Bel  a  gudgeon  ?" 

Ned  laughed.  "  No — what  are  you  thinking  of? — I  mean  this 
fish,"  said  he,  drawing  up  his  line — "  It  has  nibbled  off  three 
baits  in  succession,  and  I  can't  get  him  on  my  hook." 

"  Throw  in  again,  Ned,"  said  I,  smiling,  ''  perhaps  you  will 
have  better  luck  next  time.  So  Bel,  you  think,  is  a  lively  girl? 
and  you  go  to  make  her  a  visit  occasionally  ?  That  must  be  quite 
an  effort.  And  she  is  of  opinion  that  you  don't  come  often 
enouffh. — What  would  you  call  often  ?" 


112  ACONFESSION 

"  I  was  there  tlie  very  morning  of  the  day  on  which  you  arrived 
here,"  said  Ned. 

"  Ten  days  ago  !"  I  said,  with  an  affected  surprise — "  and  still 
she  complains  !  What  an  unreasonable  lady  !  I  suppose  she  would 
have  you  galloping  there  twice  a  week,  at  least?  These  women 
exact  a  great  deal  of  us  poor  men.  Why,  if  you  were  a  lover  of 
hers, — as  I  know  you  are  not — once  a  week  I  should  say  " — 
"  Well,  I  don't  know  " — said  Ned,  interrupting  me. 
"  You  don't  know  what  ?"  I  asked — "  whether  you  are  a  lover 
of  her's,  or  not  2 — Such  a  cool,  unimpassioned  fellow  as  you  are 
never  made  a  lover  in  the  world.  If  I  lived  as  near  to  the  Brakes 
as  you  do,  I  should  make  it  a  point  to  be  over  head  and  ears  in 
love  with  Bel  Tracy — But  there  is  a  difference  between  you  and 
me." 

Ned  laughed  again,  quite  loud  this  time,  but  his  mirth  was 
manifestly  artij&cial. 

"  You  think  so  ?" — he  said,  at  last. 

The  confession  was  on  his  lips — but  a  hesitation  of  one  mo- 
ment drove  it  back.  His  heart  failed  him,  and  like  a  ship  which 
misses  her  stays,  he  fell  off  again  into  the  wind. 

"  They  do  say  " — said  I — "  that  this  Mr.  Swansdown,  of  whom 
I  have  heard  so  much  lately,  looks  that  way  with  an  eager  eye, 
and  that  something  is  likely  to  come  of  it.  Her  father  is  fond 
of  him,  I  hear ;  and  if  that's  true,  I  consider  her  as  good  as  mort- 
gaged already.  Perhaps  it  is  wise  in  you  to  keep  out  of  a  love- 
scrape  against  such  odds  ?" 

"  Swansdown !"  exclaimed  Ned.  "  Who  told  you  that? — Don't 
believe  a  word  of  it,  Mark.  Bel  Tracy  is  a  woman  of  sense,  and 
discriminates  amongst  men  with  remarkable  acutencss.  She  has 
some  odd  fancies — but  Swansdown  is  not  one  of  them.  I  don't  be- 
lieve she  can  abide  him.     D n  it,  I  know  she  can't.     Women 

will  do  queer  things  sometimes — but  Bel  will  never  have  Swans- 
down as  long  as  lier  name  is  Bel  Tracy." 


A     CONFESSION.  113 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  I  replied.  '•  She  will  consider  it  a  point 
of  propriety  to  change  her  name  on  the  very  day  she  weds  him. 
As  to  her  discrimination — she  will  settle  that  as  Papa  advises. 
Bel,  I'll  be  bound,  is  a  dutiful  daughter,  and  will  do  as  her  fathei 
bids  her.  Moreover,  when  a  woman  of  a  lively  imagination— ^as 
your  country  ladies  generally  are — once  permits  her  fancy  to  light 
upon  a  lover,  it  is  quite  immaterial  what  manner  of  man  he  may 
be, — the  fancy  is  apt  to  settle  the  business  for  itself.  Fancy 
is  a  colt  that  will  run  away  with  as  good  a  rider  as  Bel  Tracy. 
I  profess  to  know  a  little  of  these  women  myself,  Ned." 

"  Swansdown," — said  Hazard,  alarmed  by  the  suggestion  I 
had  forced  so  confidently  upon  him,  and  flushed  with  a  slight 
degree  of  fretful  anger, — "  is  the  most  preposterous  ass — the 
most  enormous  humbug — the  most  remarkable  coxcomb  in  Vir- 
ginia." 

"  No  matter  for  that. — Bel,  as  you  say,  has  a  great  admiration 
for  an  elegant,  refined,  sweet-spoken,  grave,  and  dignified  gentle- 
man : — that's  a  hobby  of  hers,  from  your  own  account ;  and  it  is 
hard  to  tell  the  counterfeit  from  the  real  in  these  things." 

"  Devil !"  cried  Ned.  "  She  can't  be  mistaken  in  Swansdown. 
I  acknowledge  she  is  somewhat  haunted  by  this  crotchet  of  ele- 
gance, and  all  that, — and  that  such  a  thing  does,  once  in  a  while, 
make  a  woman  rather  impracticable ;  but  Bel's  good  sense  will 
get  the  better  of  that.  However,  you  may  argue  about  it  as  you 
will,  I  have  reason  to  know  what  her  feelings  are — personal  rea- 
son,"— he  said  with  some  warmth. 

"  How  could  you  know  ? — what  reason  have  you  ?" 

"  If  you  will  have  it,  Littleton,  and  will  keep  a  secret,  I  will 
tell  you.  Bel  and  I  have  had  a  sort  of  understanding.  I  have 
been  very  much  attached  to  her  for  some  time,  and  she  knows  it. 
-Indeed,  between  you  and  me,  I  told  her  so ;  and  although  there 
was  nothing  specific  came  of  it,  yet  I  can  assure  you  she  does  not 


114  A     CONFESSION. 

care  a  brass  button  for  SiDgleton  Swansdown.     Mark,  you  -will 
not  mention  this,  of  course." 

"  Ob  bo  ! — so  tbe  wind's  in  tbat  quarter  !" — said  I.  "  Wby 
did'nt  you  tell  me  tbis  before  ?  Here  bave  I  been  taking  your 
part  against  Bel  Tracy  all  tbis  time.  And  now  it  turns  out  I 
ougbt  to  bave  been  on  tbe  otber  side." 

"  Well,  I  intended  to  tell  you,"  said  Ned,  "  but  somebow  it 
got  out  of  my  bead.     I  did'nt  tbink  of  it." 

"  You  blind  bat !"  said  I,  "  and  bypocrite,  to  boot !  "Wby,  I 
knew  you  were  in  love  tbe  first  day  I  saw  you.  You  bave  bad 
notbing  in  your  bead  but  Bel  Tracy  ever  since  I  arrived  bere. 
You  bave  been  dying  to  tell  me  all  day." 

"  I  tbougbt  you  would  laugb  at  me — a  love  affair  is  always  a 
foolisb  tbing,  and  every  body  laugbs  at  it." 

"  Indeed,  I  assure  you,  upon  my  bonor,  I  tbink  to  be  in  love 
one  of  tbe  most  serious,  nay  solemn  tbings  in  tbe  world.  It  bas 
made  you  a  perfect  stick.  You  bave  lost  all  your  ligbt-bearted- 
ness. — And  so,  sbe  encourages  you,  you  tbink?" 

"  I  sbould  say  so,"  replied  Ned.  "  Tbat  is,  sbe  don't  discour- 
age me.  You  know  tbere  are  a  tbousand  little  movements 
in  a  woman's  deportment  tbat  sbow  bow  ber  bumor  lies.  Not 
any  tbing  to  speak  of  singly,  but  take  tbem — in  tbe  long  run — 
you  understand  ?" 

"  Are  you  very  particular  in  your  attentions  ?" 

"Well — tolerably — wben  I  bave  a  cbance." 

"  Wbat  do  you  call  particular  attentions,  Ned?" 

"  Wby — I  don't  know  exactly  bow  to  answer  tbat,"  be  re- 
plied. "  I  am  attentive  to  ber, — tbat  is  to  say,  I  keep  an  eye  upon 
ber.     For  instance,  I  bave  sent  her  partridges." 

"Dead  or  alive?"  I  asked  witb  great  gravity. 

"  Some  tbat  I  bad  shot,"  said  Ned  ;  "  dead,  of  course." 

"  For  ber  to  cat?"  said  I.  "  Quite  an  appropriate  present  to 
1  voung  lady.     Is  she  gastronomic?" 


A     CONFESSION.  115 

••  Nonsense  !"  exclaimed  Ned.     '•  The  partridges  were  for  her 
father,  and  I  so  explained  it." 

'•  Did  you  ever  ask  her  at  dinner  to  allow  you  to  help  her  to 
some  greens  ?" 

'•  "What  the  d 1  do  you  mean,  Littleton  1" 

••  I  mean  that  your  attentions  are  rather  odd  for  a  lover.  Can 
you  think  of  any  others?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  recall  what  you  would  consider  actually  atten- 
tions.    I  am  conj&dent,  however,  that  I  have  shown  her  many." 

"  Any  verses,  or  love  letters,  or  sketches  for  an  album,  any 
snug  little  inferences  in  a  corner  ?" 

'•  Oh  no,  nothing  to  that  extent,"  said  Ned. 

•'•  What  then  did  you  mean  by  telling  me  that  you  had  per- 
sonal reason  to  know  her  feelings,  just  now — that  you  have  told 
her  CI  your  attachment?  I  think,  too,  you  Said  nothing  specific 
came  of  it?" 

''  I'll  explain,"  replied  Ned.  '•  The  fact  is,  I  addressed  her. 
It  was'nt  the  luckiest  thing  in  the  world.  About  a  year  ago,  we 
had  a  dinner  party  at  the  Brakes — rather  a  merry  one,  and  I 
drank  a  little  too  much  champagne  :  and  being  possessed  with  a 
devil — for  I  can't  account  for  it  in  any  other  v^aj — I  got  to  walk- 
ing with  Bel  after  night-fail  on  the  porch ;  and  finding  we  were 
alone,  with  the  moon  shining  bright  above,  and  the  roses  and 
honey -suckles,  and  all  that,  perfuming  the  air  with  the  incense  of 
Araby,  I  naturally  got  to  be  sentimental  and  talked.  I  am  in- 
clined to  believe,  a  good  deal  of  nonsense — and,  in  the  end.  popped 
the  question  at  her  like  the  crack  of  a  rifle." 
'•  Well,  what  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  she  behaved  with  the  most  admirable*spirit.  She  turned 
round  promptly  and  went  into  the  house,  without  saying  a  word ; 
leaving  me  to  construe  that  as  I  might  choose  to  take  it." 

"  Ah  ha.  I  understand  now  what  you  mean  by  nothing  specific 
coming  of  it.     You  think  then  she  encourages  you?" 


116  A     CONFESSION. 

"  Slie  did'nt  refuse  me,"  said  Ned,  "  and  I  consider  that  en- 
couragement. The  truth  is,  Mark,  Bel  rather  likes  me,  but  she 
doesn't  like  to  show  it." 

"  You  have  never  spoken  to  her  since  on  the  same  subject  ?" 

"  Oh,  never.  I  have  ridden  out  with  her  frequently  since 
that,  and  she  is  always  in  excellent  spirits." 

"  Do  you  ride  alone  with  her  ?" 

"  No.  She  always  makes  Ralph  or  Harvey  Riggs,  or  some 
one  else  of  the  party.  That  shows  she  is  sensitive  on  the  sub- 
ject, you  perceive.  She  wishes  to  delay  the  matter — which  is  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  A  woman  gets  tremulous,  and 
likes  to  put  off  such  things  till  the  next  day,  and  then  the  next, — 
and  so  on." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Ned,  yon  are  a  coward.  I  thought  you  were 
a  brave  man.  Why  don't  you  tell  her  at  once,  you  want  to  talk 
to  her  alone,  and  persevere  till  she  agrees  to  give  you  an  oppor- 
tunity ?  You  would  soon  find  out  whether  she  encourages  you  or 
not." 

"  My  good  fellow,"  replied  Ned,  with  some  emphasis,  "  that's 
harder  to  do  than  you  think.  There  is  a  great  difference  in 
bravery  man-ward  and  woman-ward.  It  is  moral  courage  which 
is  necessary  in  these  affairs  with  women,  and  a  good  deal  of  it^ 
too.  I  would  as  lief  march  up  to  an  alligator  to  box  him  about 
the  eyes,  in  kid  gloves,  as  come  up  deliberately  on  a  cool  morn- 
ing, in  the  drawing-room  or  any  where  else,  to  Bel  Tracy  with  a 
straight,  up-and-down,  point-blank  declaration  of  love.  It  is  so 
hard  to  groove  such  a  thing  into  conversation.  A  man  gets  his 
nerves  flurried,  and  is  so  apt  to  become  thick  of  speech.  I  don't 
know  how  to  manag*e  the  topics  that  would  carry  me  up  naturally 
to  the  point,  and  save  me  from  the  awkwardness  of  an  abrupt 
transition.  There  are  men  who  can  do  it — men  of  genius  in  that 
line ;  but  I  am  not  one  of  them.     Yet,  when  you  come  to  reflect 


upon  it.  it  ought  not  to  be  any  such  great  matter.  All  the  world 
is  getting  married  every  day  ;  every  man  has  to  go  through  it — 
an  ordinance  of  nature :  and  it  does  come  to  pass.  But  how  the 
thing  is  managed  so  universally  and  so  successfully — by  all  sorts 
of  persons,  of  course, — that's  a  great  mystery.  Like  good  Chris- 
tians, we  ought  to  help  one  another." 

"  To  be  sure  we  ought,"  said  I,  •■  and  we  will,  Ned.  "We  shall 
hold  a  council  upon  it,  and  conduct  our  seige  of  poor  little  Bel's 
heart,  according  to  the  rules  of  the  most  approved  strategy.  But 
there  must  be  no  flinching  on  your  part." 

'^  I  sometimes  feel  in  a  mood,"  said  Ned,  '•  that  would  carry 
me  through,  off-hand,  if  I  had  a  chance:  but  then  again" — .  Here 
he  shook  his  head  thoughtfully,  as  much  as  to  say,  that  this  mood 
was  not  the  optative,  to  come  at  his  wish.  "  I  think."  he  added, 
with  some  animation,  as  if  a  new  and  ino-enious  thousrht  had 
struck  him,  '•  the  best  time  for  it,  Littleton,  is  after  dinner — 
about  twilight,  between  hawk  and  buzzard." 

'•  We  must  try  it  with  cool  heads."  I  replied.  •'  As  much  of  the 
hawk  as  you  please,  Ned,  but  no  buzzard  will  serve  us." 

Before  we  had  come  to  this  conclusion,  we  had  several  times 
changed  our  ground,  and  had  now  reached  the  centre  of  a  grove 
of  tall  trees.  Hazard,  having  in  this  conversation  happily  dis- 
burdened his  mind  of  a  weight  that  had  oppressed  it  for  some 
time,  appeared  quite  a  new  man  to  me.  He  became  rational,  gay 
and  confident,  and  was  quite  willing  now  to  dismiss  the  topic  we 
had  agitated  so  long. 

I  was  struck  with  the  scenery  around  us.  It  v/as  just  such 
a  landscape  as  a  painter  would  delight  to  study  in  detail,  and 
sketch  from  every  point ;  there  was  such  variety  of  foliage,  such 
beautiful  contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  such  bits  of  foreground,  and 
rich  accessories  to  throw  into  a  picture.  The  beech,  the  poplar, 
and  the  sycamore,  all  so  different  in  form,  and  so  majestical  from 


IIS  A     CONFESSION. 

age  and  size,  rose  iu  this  forest  from  a  carpet  of  matted  grass  of 
the  liveliest  verdure.  There  was  no  underwood  to  interrupt  the 
view  into  the  deep  recesses  of  shade.  An  occasional  straggling 
grape-vine  swung  across  from  tree  to  tree,  embracing  the  branches 
of  both  in  its  huge  serpent-like  folds  ;  and,  here  and  there,  an  erect, 
prim,  and  maidenish  poplar  was  furbelowed,  from  the  root  all  the 
way  up  to  the  limbs,  with  wild  ivy,  and  in  this  sylvan  millinery 
coquetted  with  the  zephyr  that  seemed  native  to  the  grove. 

Through  this  sequestered  shade  the  stream  crept  with  a  devi- 
ous course,  brattling,  now  and  then,  at  the  resistance  of  decayed 
trunks  which  accident  had  thrown  across  the  channel, — and  then 
subsiding  again  into  silence. 

As  we  advanced,  swarms  of  tad-poles  darted  from  the  shallow 
into  deeper  water ;  apple-bugs,  as  the  country  people  call  that 
black  beetle-shaped  insect  which  frequents  summer  pools,  and  which 
is  distinguished  for  the  perfume  of  the  fruit  that  has  given  it  its 
name — danced  in  busy  mazes  over  the  surface  of  the  still  water : 
the  large  spider,  resembling  a  wheel  without  its  rim,  shot  forth 
over  his  little  lake,  in  angular  lines,  as  if  making  a  trigonometri- 
cal survey  of  its  expanse  ;  and  schools  of  greedy  little  fish  sprang 
up  at  every  mote  that  fell  upon  the  stream.  Then  the  gray  squir- 
rel, with  his  graceful  undulating  tail,  vaulted  furtively  across  our 
path  to  some  neighboring  tree  ;  and  our  attention  was  frequently 
called  to  the  water-snake  with  his  head  thrust  under  a  stone  and 
the  folds  of  his  body  glistening  in  the  sun  as  the  stream  wash*,  i 
over  him. 

Rip  and  his  goblin  page,  both  of  whom  had  been  long  out  o! 
sight,  were  now  in  view.  They  had  grown  weary  of  their  attend 
ance  upon  us,  and  were  seen  at  this  time  wading  through  the 
brook,  with  their  trousers  drawn  above  the  knee — Hip  leading  tli< 
way  and  directing  the  motions  of  Beelzebub,  who  imitated  all  hi; 
gestures  with  a  grin  of  saucy  good  nature.     Thev  were  carryin*. 


A     C  O  N  F  E  S  S 1  O  N  .  119 

on  a  destructive  warfare  against  the  frogs,  and,  by  the  capture  of 
several  distinguished  individuals  of  the  enemy,  had  spread  con- 
sternation along  the  whole  margin  of  the  stream, — insomuch,  as 
Kip  declared,  "  that  not  a  Frenchman  amongst  them  dared  to 
show  his  goggle-eyes  above  the  water." 

The  sun  was  now  some  hour  or  more  past  his  meridian,  and 
7e  proposed  a  return.  So,  gathering  up  our  spoils,  some  dozens 
if  stone-heads,  suckers,  and  othSr  small  iish,  which  we  had  taken 
at  intervals  during  our  colloquy,  and  calling  in  our  skirmishers 
from  the  battle  of  the  frogs,  we  took  up  our  homeward  line  of 
march — tne  two  dripping  and  muddy  mignons  of  our  suite  bring- 
ing up  the  rear,  each  bearing  a  string  of  fish  hung  by  the  gills 
upon  a  willcw  withe.  In  this  array  we  soon  regained  the  court- 
yard of  the  mansion. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

A    MAN    OF    PRETENSIONS. 

It  is  to  be  remarked  in  regard  to  all  love  affairs,  that  whatever 
may  be  the  embarrassment  of  the  disclosure,  there  is  by  no  means 
the  same  difficulty  in  conversing  about  them  afterwards.  When 
the  ice  is  once  broken,  your  genuine  lover  is  never  tired  of  talk- 
ing about  his  mistress. 

For  twenty-four  hours  after  our  late  ramble,  Ned  talked, 
almost  incessantly,  upon  the  ^ame  subject.  He  let  it  drop  for  a 
moment,  but  he  was  sure  to  come  speedily  back  upon  it  with  a 
new  face,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  that  required  a  serious  delibera- 
tion ;  and  he  insinuated,  that,  in  the  present  stage  of  the  business, 
my  advice  was  important  to  determine  whether  he  should  go  on 
with  it ;  although  it  was  easy  enough  to  perceive  that  his  mind 
was  not  only  quite  made  up,  but  keenly  set  upon  the  prosecution 
of  the  affair.  Then,  he  affected  to  be  greatly  undecided  as  to 
some  minute  particular  of  conduct.  Again,  he  had  his  doubts 
whether,  upon  the  whole,  she  really  did  encourage  him.  In  this 
sentiment  he  was  sincere,  although  he  endeavored  to  persuade 
himself  that  the  matter  was  reasonably  certain.  These  doubts 
made  him  restless,  droll  and  solemn ;  but  again  changing  his 
mood,  he  presented  the  entire  action  to  me,  from  beginning  to 
endj  as  a  laughable  affair ;  and  that  made  him  swear  at  it,  and 


A     MAN     OF     PRETExN'SIONSi.  121 

say  it  was  very  (|uoer — unaccountable — extraordinary  ; — that  it 
put  a  man  in  sucli  an  awkward  situation  !  But  his  conclusion 
to  it  all  was,  that  there  was  no  use  in  talking  about  it, — matters 
had  gone  so  far  that  there  was  no  alternative  ;  he  was  committed 
on  the  point  of  honor,  and  bound  as  a  gentleman  to  make  his  pre- 
tensions good.  I  vexed  him  a  little  by  saying  I  did  not  think 
so ;  and  that  if  it  was  distasteful  to  him,  I  thought  he  was  at 
liberty  to  retire  when  he  chose.  This  balked  his  humor.  So  I 
consented  to  admit  his  premises  for  the  future,  and  allow  that  he 
was  bound  in  honor.  With  this  admission  he  j)roceeded  in  his 
argument.  It  all  amounted  to  the  same  thing,  and  the  only 
varieties  I  discovered  after  this,  were  in  his  positions.  He  argued 
it  perpendicularly,  walking,  jumping,  dancing  :  then  horizontally, 
lolling  over  three  chairs,  stretched  out  on  a  bed,  and  parched  in 
the  windows ;  then  manually,  washing,  dressing,  whistling,  sing- 
ing and  laughing.  In  short,  he  behaved  himself  throughout  the 
whole  debate,  like  a  man  in  love. 

We  were  at  the  height  of  this  disquisition,  on  the  morning  fol- 
lowing Ned's  first  confessions,  about  an  hour  before  dinner,  in  my 
chamber,  extended  at  full  length  upon  the  bed,  with  our  feet  up 
against  the  bed-posts,  when  Kip  came  running  in,  almost  out  of 
breath,  saying,  "  that  if  we  wanted  to  see  something  worth  look- 
ing at,  we  should  come  down  stairs  quickly,  for  there  was  Mr. 
Swansdown  spinning  up  to  the  house,  and  making  the  gravel  fly 
like  hail ;  and  there  was  aunt  Prue,  in  the  drawing-room,  fixing 
a  book  before  her  in  such  a  hurry !  and  Mrs.  Winkle  scolding 
about  the  custards  : — And  wasn't  there  going  to  be  fun !" 

I  went  to  the  window,  atid  could  see  the  phenomenon  that 
excited  Rip's  admiration  approaching  the  mansion  like  a  meteor. 
A  new  light  blue  curricle,  with  a  pair  of  long-tailed  bay  horses 
in  fine  keeping,  driven  by  a  gentleman  of  a  delicate,  emaciated 
figure,  and  followed  by  a  servant  in  livery,  had  just  entered  the 
6 


122  A     MAN     OF     PRETENSIONS.  ' 

court-yard.  The  plate  of  the  harness  aud  mouldings  glittered 
with  an  astounding  brilliancy  in  the  sun,  and  the  spokes  of  the 
wheels  emitted  that  spirited  glare  which  belongs  to  an  equipage 
of  the  highest  polish.  The  horses  were  reined  up  at  the  door, 
and  the  gentleman  descended.  It  was  very  evident  that  Mr. 
Singleton  Oglethorpe  Swansdown  was  a  man  to  produce  a  sensa- 
tion in  .the  country. 

Hazard  and  myself  repaired  to  the  hall.  Meriwether  recoived 
his  guest  with  the  plain  and  cordial  manner  natural  to  him.  Mr. 
Swansdown  has  a  tall  figure,  and  an  effeminate  and  sallow  com- 
plexion, somewhat  impaired  perhaps  by  ill  health,  a  head  of  dark 
hair,  partially  bald,  a  soft  black  eye,  a  gentle  movement,  a  musi- 
cal, low-toned  voice,  and  a  highly  finished  style  of  dress.  He  was 
very  particular  in  his  inquiries  after  the  family ;  and  having  gone 
through  many  preliminary  civilities,  he  was  shown  to  a  chamber 
to  make  his  toilet  for  dinner.  Soon  afterwards,  he  appeared  in 
the  drawing-room,  where  he  was  remarkable  for  his  sober,  win- 
ning affability.  He  flattered  Mrs.  Meriwether  upon  her  good 
health,  and  the  fine  appearance  of  the  children.  Lucy  and  Vic- 
torine  he  thought  were  going  to  be  very  beautiful  (Lucy  and 
Victorine  both  blushed) :  they  made  him  feel  old,  when  he  recol- 
lected their  infant  gambols ;  Master  Philip  (otherwise  Rip)  was 
growing  up  to  be  a  fine  manly  fellow ;  (at  this,  Rip  crept  slyly 
behind  him,  and  strutted  in  ^the  opposite  direction  with  many 
grimaces),  it  was  time  to  give  up  his  nickname ;  he  didn't  like 
nicknames.  He  was  very  complimentary  to  Prudence  Meriwether, 
which  had  a  visible  effect  upon  her,  and  made  her  animated  :  and 
thought  his  friend  Meriwether  looked  younger  and  more  robust 
than  when  they  last  met.  He  told  Hazard  that  he  was  very 
much  wanting  in  Richmond,  by  a  party  of  ladies  who  were  going 
off' to  the  North,  and  that  he,  Ned,  had  made  a  great  impression 
upon  them.     In  short,   Mr.  Swansdown  seemed  determined  to 


A     MAN     OF     PRETENSIONS.  123 

please  every  body,  by  the  concern  which  he  manifested  in  their 
happiness ;  and  this  was  done  with  such  a  refined  address,  and 
such  practised  composure,  as  to  render  it  quite  taking.  There  is 
nothing  equal  to  the  self-possession  of  a  gentleman  who  has 
travelled  about  the  world,  and  frequented  the  circles  of  fashion, 
when  he  comes  into  a  quiet,  orderly,  respectable  family  in  the 
country.  It  is  pleasant  to  behold  what  delight  he  takes  to  hear 
himself  talk. 

Swansdown  inherited  from  his  father  an  estate  on  the  Meher- 
rin,  in  the  most  southern  quarter  of  Virginia.  He  is  now  about 
the  prime  of  life,  and  still  a  bachelor.  Being  therefore  a  gentle- 
man without  much  to  keep  him  at  home,  he  has  recently  travelled 
over  Europe,  and  is  very  conversant  besides  with  the  principal 
cities  of  the  Union.  He  has  twice  been  very  nearly  elected  to 
Congress,  and  ascribes  his  failure  to  his  not  being  sufficiently 
active  in  the  canvass.  Upon  this  foundation  he  considers  him- 
self a  public  man,  and  of  some  importance  to  the  government. 
It  is  remarked  of  him,  that  he  is  a  very  decided  Virginian  when 
he  is  out  of  the  state,  and  a  great  admirer  of  foreign  parts  when 
he  is  at  home.  His  memory  is  stored  with  a  multitude  of  pretty 
sayings,  and  many  singular  adventures  that  have  befallen  him  in 
his  sundry  travels,  which  he  embellishes  with  a  due  proportion  of 
sentiment.  He  has  the  renown  of  a  poet  and  of  a  philosopher, 
having  some  years  ago  published  a  volume  of  fugitive  rhymes, 
and  being  supposed  now  to  be  engaged  in  a  work  of  a  grave, 
speculative  character,  which  it  is  predicted  will  reflect  credit  upon 
the  literature  of  the  South. 

That  he  is  a  bachelor  is  the  fault  only  of  his  stars,  for  he  has 
courted  a  whole  army  of  belles  between  Maine  and  Georgia,  in 
which  divers  wooing  he  has  been  observed  to  do  remarkably  well 
for  the  first  two  weeks ;  after  which,  somehow  or  other,  he  falls 
off  unaccountably.     And  it  is  said  that  he  can  reckon  more  re- 


124  A     MAN     OF     rUETENSIONS. 

fusals  on  his  head  than  a  thorough-paced,  political  office- hunter. 
He  is  what  the  sailors  call  an  unlucky  ship.  One  misfortune  in 
love  matters  makes  many,  and  three  are  quite  ill-omened  in  the 
calculation  of  a  high-toned,  fashionable  dame.  This  calamity 
has  been  so  often  reduplicated  upon  Swansdown,  that  it  is 
thought  he  begins  to  lower  his  pretensions,  and  talk  in  a  more 
subdued  tone  upon  the  subject.  He  is  believed  now  to  encourage 
the  opinion  that  jouv  raging  belles  are  not  apt  to  make  the  best 
wives ;  that  a  discreet  lady,  of  good  family  and  unpretending 
manners,  is  most  likely  to  make  a  sensible  man  happy ;  great 
beauty  is  not  essential ;  the  mad  world  of  fashion  is  a  bad  school ; 
and  some  such  other  doctrines  which  indicate  reflection,  if  not 
disappointment. 

In  pursuance  of  this  temperate  philosophy,  he  is  supposed  to 
be  casting  his  eye  about  the  country,  and  investigating  more  mi- 
nutely the  products  of  those  regions  over  whicl^  he  has  hitherto 
travelled  with  too  much  speed  for  accurate  observation ;  like  a 
military  engineer  whose  first  survey  is  directed  to  the  most  pro- 
minent points  of  the  ground,  and  who  retraces  his  steps  to  make 
his  examination  of  the  subordinate  positions. 

From  an  intimacy  of  long  standing  between  Mr.  Tracy  and 
the  father  of  Swansdown,  the  former  has  a  strong  prepossession 
in  favor  of  the  son,  which  is  cherished  by  Singleton  in  a  course 
of  assiduous  attentions,  and,  no  doubt,  enhanced  in  some  degree 
by  the  studied  and  formal  cast  of  his  manners.  Mr.  Tracy  does 
not  fail  to  speak  of  him  as  a  man  of  excellent  capacity  atid  solid 
judgment ;  and  has  therefore  admitted  him  into  a  somewhat  con- 
fidential relation.  He  says,  moreover,  that  Singleton  is  remark- 
ably vivacious,  and  a  man  of  attic  wit.  This  appears  odd  enough 
to  those  who  have  the  honor  of  this  worthy's  society. 

What  I  have  said  will  explain  how  it  came  to  pass  that  this 
gentleman  had  been  selected  as   Mr.  Tracy's  arbitrator  in  the 


A    MAN     OP     PRETENSIONS.  125 

question  of  the  boundary  line.  It  was  with  a  view  to  the  final 
arrangement  of  this  subject  that  Swansdown  had  lately  arrived 
at  The  Brakes  ;  and  he  had  now  visited  Swallow  Barn  in  respect 
to  that  identical  negotiation. 

The  ladies  had  just  retired  from  the  dinner-table,  and  we 
were  sitting  over  our  wine,  when  Harvey  Biggs  and  Ralph  Tracy 
rode  up  to  the  door.  This  addition  to  our  company  gave  a  spur 
to  the  conversation  of  the  table.  Swansdown  had  become  ani- 
mated and  eloquent.  He  descanted  upon  the  occasion  of  his 
visit ;  that  to  gratify  his  old  friend,  Mr.  Tracy,  he  had  prevailed 
I  upon  himself  to  proffer  his  service  to  terminate  a  difficult  con- 
troversy, which,  he  had  been  given  to  understand,  was  of  some 
duration.  This  was  one  of  those  imperfect  obligations  which 
appertain  to  the  relation  of  friendship.  He  ventured  to  suggest 
an  opinion,  that  the  issue  would  be  auspicious  to  their  mutual 
interests,  and  took  leave  to  indulge  the  hope,  that  neither  of  his 
amiable  and  excellent  friends  would  find  occasion  to  regret  the 
arrangement. 

Meriwether  answered  these  diplomatic  insinuations  with  a  bend 
of  the  head  implying  entire  acquiescence,  and  with  an  occasional 
remark  which  showed  the  little  importance  he  attached  to  the 
matter.     Ned  and  Harvey  Biggs  exchanged  looks,  drank  their 
wine,  and  listened  to  the  oracle.     Swansdown,  in  the  course  of 
the  evening,  was  continually  reminded  of  something  he  had  seen 
!  at  Florence,  or  Vienna,  or  other  places.     The  river,  which  was 
I  visible  from  our  windows,  put  him  in  mind  of  the  Lake  of  Gene- 
!  va ;  it  only  wanted  the  mountains.     Then,  he  had  choice  auec- 
'  dotes   to  tell  of    distinguished  personages  in  Boston  or  New- 
York  ;  and  a  most  pithy  piece  of  scandal  that  had  transpired  last 
i  winter  at  Washinc^ton.     Meriwether  bowed  his  head  a2;ain.  but 
I  very  much  like  a  man  who  was  at  a  loss  how  to  reply,  and  con 
I  tinned  to  listen  with  the  utmost  suavity.     Harvey  Biggs,  how- 


126  A     MAN     OF     PRETENSIONS. 

ever,  often  drew  the  discourse  into  a  parenthesis,  as  if  to  get  at 
such  subsidiary  particulars  as  were  necessary  to  elucidate  the 
narrative,  and  generally,  by  this  mischievous  contrivance,  took  oflf 
the  finish  which  the  speaker  studied  to  give  to  his  recital. 

A  neat  little  pamphlet  of  verses  some  time  ago  made  its  ap- 
pearance at  Richmond,  in  hot  press,  and  on  the  finest  paper.  It 
was  a  delicate  eff'usion  of  superfine  sentiment,  woven  into  a  plain- 
tive tale ;  and  had  dropped,  apparently,  from  some  bower  of  sun- 
gilt  clouds,  as  they  floated,  on  one  vernal  evening,  over  the  fash- 
ionable quarter  of  Richmond, — it  was  so  dainty  in  its  array,  and 
so  mysterious  in  its  origin.  '*  From  whence  could  it  come,  but 
from  the  Empyrean,  or  from  Hybla,"  said  the  ladies  of  Richmond ; 
'•  or  from  the  divine  pen  of  the  fastidious  and  super-sentimental 
Swansdown  ?"  Ned  Hazard  had  brought  this  beautiful  foundling 
to  Swallow  Barn,  and  had  given  it  to  Prudence  Meriwether  to 
nurse.     It  was  now  upon  the  window-seat. 

It  is  necessary  to  state,  that  amidst  all  the  criticism  of  Rich- 
mond, and  the  concurring  determination  of  every  body  to  impute 
the  verses  to  Swansdown,  and  the  consequent  reiteration  of  that 
imputation  by  all  companies,  he  never  gave  a  plain  denial  of  his 
paternity;  but,  on  the  contrary,  took  pleasure  in  hearing  thei 
charge,  and  was  so  coquettish  about  the  matter,  and  insinuated, 
such  gentle  doubts,  that  it  was  considered  a  case  of  avowed  detec- 
tion. 

This  dapper  and  delicious  little  poetical  sally  was  christenod 
"  The  Romaunt  of  Dr3'asdale,"  in  the  title-page,  but  was  moir 
generally  known  by  the  name  of  '•  The  Lapdog  Romance,"  which 
Harvey  Riggs  had  bestowed  upon  it.  *  I 

"I  suppose  you  have  seen  this  before?"  said  Hazard  to 
Swansdown,  as  he  threw  the  book  upon  the  table  before  him. 

Swansdown  picked  it  up,  hastily  turned  over  the  leaves,  smiled, 
and  replied,  ''It  has  made  some  stir  in  its  day.     Rut  things  like 


A     MAN     OF    PRETENSIONS.  127 

this  are  not  long-lived,  however  well  executed.     This  seems  to 
have  kept  its  ground  much  longer  than  most  of  its  species." 

"  The  common  opinion/'  said  Ned,  "  is  not  backward  to  desig- 
nate its  author." 

'•  Of  course,"  replied  Swansdown,  '•  if  a  man  has  ever  been 
guilty  in  his  life  of  stringing  couplets,  he  becomes  a  scape-goat 
ever  after.  Is  it  not  somewhat  strange  that  I  should  be  perpetual- 
ly charged  with  this  sort  of  thing  ?  But  it  is  long  since  I  have 
abandoned  the  banks  of  the  Helicon.  I  protest  to  you  I  have  not 
time  for  this  kind  of  idling.  No,  no,  gentlemen,  charge  me  with 
what  indiscretion  you  please,  but  spare  me  from  the  verses." 

'•  If  we  could  believe  the  rumors,"  said  Harvey,  '•  we  should 
not  doubt  the  origin  of  this  effusion  :  but  I  rely  more  on  my  own 
j  judgment.  I  can  pretty  surely  detect  the  productions  of  persons 
I  am  acquainted  with  :  there  is  a  spice,  a  flavor,  in  a  man's  con- 
versation, which  is  certain  to  peep  out  in  the  efforts  of  his  pen. 
Now  this  work  is  diametrically  opposite  to  every  thing  we  know 
of  Mr.  Swansdown.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  studied  and  solemn, 
and  wants  Swansdown's  light  and  familiar  vivacity.  Secondly, 
I  there  is  an  affectation  of  elegance  utterly  at  war  with  his  ordinary 
I  manners.     Thirdly," — 

"Oh,  my  dear  sir,"  cried  Swansdown,   "save  me  from  this 
,i    serious  vindication  of  my  innocence.     You  can't  be  in  earnest  in 
thinking  any  one  believes  the  report  ?" 

"  They  do   say  so,"  replied  Harvey,  ••  but  I   have  always   de- 
..  I  fended  you.     I  have  said  that  if  you  chose  to  devote  your  time  in 
':  this  way,  something   of  a  more   permanent   and  solid    character 
would  be  given  to  the  world." 

'•  I  have  been  bantered  with  it  by  my  friends  in  the  North," 
added  Swansdown,  '-but  that  is  a  gauntlet  which  every  man,  who 
dabbles  in  literature,  must  expect  to  run." 

'•  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  the  poem,"  said  Meriwether, 
with  innocent  gravity. 


128  A     MAN     UF     PllETENSIONS. 

"  It  is  called  The  Eomaunt  of  Drjasdale,"  said  Swansdown. 

"  Or  The  Lapdog  Romance,"  added  Ned. 

Swansdown  colored  slightly,  and  then  laughed :  but  without 
much  heart. 

"  Fill  up  your  glass,  Mr.  Swansdown,"  said  Meriwether,  '•  the 
truth  of  wine  is  a  good  companion  to  the  fiction  of  poetry.  Is 
this  thing  much  admired  ?" 

'•  A  good  deal,"  replied  Swansdown. 

"  Amongst  the  young  ladies  of  the  boarding-school,  especially," 
said  Harvey. 

'•  If  I  were  disposed  to  criticise  it,"  said  Ned,  "  I  should  say 
that  the  author  has  been  more  successful  in  his  rhyme  than  in  his 
story." 

"  Yes,"  added  Harvey,  "  the  jingle  of  the  verse  is  its  great 
merit,  and  seems  to  have  so  completely  satisfied  the  writer,  that 
he  has  forgotten  to  bring  the  story  forward  at  all.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  make  out  exactly  what  is  the  subject  of  it." 

'•  Then  the  sentiment,"  continued  Hazard,  "  in  which  it  abounds 
is  somewhat  over-mystical : — one  flight  runs  so  into  the  other 
that  it  is  not  very  easy  to  comprehend  them." 

"  That,"  said  Harvey,  "  is  an  admirable  invention  in  writing. 
The  author  only  gives  you  half  of  what  he  means,  leaving  you  to 
fill  up  the  rest  for  yourself     It  saves  time,  and  enables  him  to  i 
crowd  a  great  deal  into  a  small  space." 

At  this,  Swansdown  gave  another  laugh,  but  somewhat  dry  and 
feeble. 

"  There  is  another  thing  about  this  poem,"  said  Ned,  "it  haSi 
some  strange  comparisons.  There  is  one  here  that  Prudence  hasi 
marked  ;  I  suppose  she  has  found  out  its  meaning,  and  as  that  isi] 
a  fortunate  enterprise,  she  has  taken  care  to  note  it.  The  poet 
has  endeavored  to  trace  a  resemblance  between  the  wing  of  Cupid 
and  his  mistress's  breath  :  and  he  sets  about  it  bv  showing,  that: 


A     MAN     OP     PRETENSIONS.  129 

when  Cupid  takes  a  flight  on  a  spring  morning,  with  his  wings 
bound  with  roses,  he  must  necessarily,  at  every  flutter,  shake  off 
some  of  these  odoriferous  flowers  ;  and  then,  as  the  lady's  breath 
is  redolent  of  aromatic  flavors,  the  resemblance  is  complete.  I'L 
read  the  passage  aloud,  if  you  please." 

'•  Meriwether,"  said  Swansdown  in  evident .  embarrassment 
but  still  endeavoring  to  preserve  a  face  of  gayety,  '•  suppose  r/c 
take  a  turn  across  your  lawn  before  dark? — We  want  a  little 
motion.' 

"  Won'fe  you  "Stay  to  hear  this  flight  of  Cupid?"  asked  Ned, 
taking  up  the  book. 

'•  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  very  fine,"  said  Swansdown.  •'  But 
your  account  of  it  is  so  much  better,  that  I  should  not  like  to 
weaken  the  impression  of  it." 

Saying  this,  he  retreated  from  the  dining-room,  and  waited 
at  the  front  door  for  Meriwether,  who  almost  immediately  fol- 
lowed. 

In  the  evening  our  party  played  at  whist ;  Prudence  and 
the  poet  making  partners  against  Meriwether  and  Harvey:  whilst 
the  rest  of  us  sat  round  as  spectators  of  the  game.  Mr.  Chub,  as 
usual,  smoked  his  pipe  in  the  porch,  and  the  children  slept  about 
the  corners  of  the  room.  Swansdown  had  grown  dull,  and  his 
particularly  accomplished  bearing  appeared  somewhat  torpid,  ex- 
cept now  and  then,  when  he  had  occasion  to  make  an  inquiry 
respecting  the  game,  which  he  did  in  a  manner  that  no  vulgar 
jwhist-player  may  ever  hope  to  emulate  :  as  thus. — putting  on  an 
linterrogative  look,  gently  bending  his  body  forward,  extending 
his  left  arm  a  little  outward  from  his  breast,  and  showing  a  fine 
diamond  ring  on  his  little  finger,  and  asking  with  a  smile, — so 
Isoft  that  it  could  hardly  be  called  a  smile. — '•  spades  are  trumps  ?" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


MY     GRAND     UNCLE. 


My  grand  uncle  Edward  Hazard,  the  father  of  Walte:;  was 
from  all  accounts,  a  man  of  an  active,  speculating  turn.  He  was 
always  busy  in  schemes  to  improve  his  estate,  and,  it  is  said,  threw  ■ 
away  a  great  deal  of  money  by  way  of  bettering  his  fortune.  He 
was  a  gentleman  who  had  spent  a  considerable  portion  of  his  life 
in  England,  and  when  he  settled  himself,  at  last,  in  possession  of 
his  patrimony  at  Swallow  Barn,  he  was  filled  with  magnificent 
projects,  which,  tradition  says,  to  hear  him  explain,  would  have 
satisfied  any  man,  to  a  mathematical  demonstration,  that  with  the 
expenditure  of  a  few  thousand  pounds.  Swallow  Barn  would  have 
risen  one  hundred  per  cent,  in  value.  He  was  a  very  authorita-i 
tive  man,  also,  in  the  province  ;  belonged  frequently  to  the  House 
of  Burgesses ;  and  was,  more  than  once,  in  the  privy  council.  The 
family  now  look  up  to  my  grand  uncle  Edward,  as  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  individuals  of  the  stock,  and  take  a  great  deal 
of  pride  in  his  importance  :  they  say  he  was  a  most  astonishing 
rake  in  London,  and  a  wonderful  speaker  in  the  provincial  legis- 
lature. 

Connected  with  these  two  developments  of  his  character,  there' 
are  two  portraits  of  him  at  Swallow  Barn.  One  represents  him 
in  an   embroidered  coat  witliout  a  cape,  a  highly  worked  cravat, 


MY     GRAND     UNCLE.  131 

tied  tight  enough  round  his  neck  to  choke  him,  whicli  makes  his 
eyes  seem  to  start  from  their  sockets  ;  an  inordinately  bedizened 
waistcoat,  satin  small-clothes,  silk  stockings,  and  large  buckles  in 
his  shoes.  His  complexion  is  of  the  most  effeminate  delicacy,  and 
his  wig  seems  to  form  a  white  downy  cushion  for  a  small  fringed 
cocked-hat.  By  the  portrait,  he  could  not  have  been  much  above 
twenty  years  of  age  ;  and  his  air  is  prodigiously  conceited.  The 
second  picture  exhibits  a  gentleman  with  a  fine,  bluff,  and  some- 
what waggish  face,  past  the  meridian  of  life,  arrayed  in  brown 
and  in  an  oratorical  attitude,  intended,  doubtless,  to  represent  him 
in  the  legislature. 

Now  it  must  be  made  known,  that  the  tract  of  land,  called  The 
Brakes,  belonging  to  the  Tracy  family,  lies  adjacent  to  Swallow 
Barn.  In  old  times  the  two  estates  were  divided  by  a  small 
stream  that  emptied  into  the  James  River,  and  that  is  still  known 
by  the  name  of  the  Apple-pie  Branch.  This  rivulet  traverses  a 
range  of  low  grounds  for  some  miles,  occasionally  spreading  itself 
out  into  morasses,  which  were  formerly,  and  in  some  places  are 
now,  overgrown  with  thickets  of  arrow-wood,  nine-bark,  and  various 
other  shrubs,  the  growth  of  this  region.  The  main  channel  of 
the  stream  through  these  tangled  masses,  was  generally  distinct 
enough  to  be  traced  as  a  boundary  line,  although  the  marsh  ex- 
tended some  distance  from  each  bank.  In  the  course  of  this 
stream  there  is  one  point  where  the  higher  ground  of  the  country 
stretches  in  upon  the  bed  of  the  marsh,  from  either  side,  so  as  to 
leave  a  gorge  of  about  a  hundred  yards  in  width,  from  both  of 
which  eminences  the  spectator  may  look  back  upon  the  low  lands 
of  the  swamp  for  nearly  a  mile. 

Just  at  that  period  of  the  life  of  my  grand  uncle  when  his 
fever  of  improvement  had  risen  to  its  crisis,  and  when  he  was 
daily  creating  immense  fortunes, — in  his  dreams, — it  struck  him, 
upon  looking  at  the  gorge  I  have  described,  that  with  very  little 


132  MY     GRAND     UNCLE. 

trouble  and  expense,  he  might  throw  a  stout  breastwork  from  one 
side  to  the  other,  and  have  as  fine  a  mill-dam  as  any  man  could 
possibly  desire.  It  was  so  simple  an  operation  that  he  was  sur- 
prised it  had  never  occurred  to  him  before.  And  then  a  flour  mill 
might  be  erected  a  short  distance  below, — which  would  cost  but 
a  trifle, — and  the  inevitable  result  would  be,  that  this  unprofitable 
tract  of  waste  land  would  thereupon  become  the  most  valuable 
part  of  the  estate. 

I  am  told  that  it  belonged  to  the  character  of  my  grand  uncle 
to  fall  absolutely  in  love  with  every  new  project.  He  turned  this 
one  over  in  his  mind  for  two  or  three  nights  ;  and  it  became  as 
clear  to  him  as  daylight,  that  he  was  to  work  wonders  with  his 
mill. 

So,  reflecting  that  he  had  but  sixteen  irons  in  the  fire  at  this 
time,  he  went  to  work  without  a  moment's  delay.  The  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  send  an  order  to  Bristol,  (for  he  never  had  any 
opinion  of  the  mechanics  at  home,)  for  a  complete  set  of  mill  ma- 
chinery ;  and  the  second,  to  put  up  a  house  of  pine  weather-boards, 
for  the  mill.  Contemporaneously  with  this  last  operation,  he  set 
about  the  dam ;  and,  in  the  course  of  one  summer,  he  had  a  huge 
breastwork  of  logs  thrown  across  the  path  of  the  modest,  diminu- 
tive Apple-pie,  which  would  have  terrified  the  stream  even  if  it 
had  been  a  giant. 

As  soon  as  this  structure  was  completed,  the  waters  began  to 
gather.  My  grand  uncle  came  down  every  day  to  look  at  them, 
and  as  he  saw  them  gradually  encroaching  upon  the  difi'erent  little 
mounds  of  the  swamp,  it  is  said  he  smiled,  and  remarked  to  his 
son  Walter,  whom  he  frequently  took  with  him,  -that  it  was 
strange  to  see  what  results  were  produced  by  human  art."  And 
it  is  also  told  of  him,  that  he  made  his  way,  during  this  rising  of  t 
the  waters,  to  a  tree  in  the  bed  of  the  dam,  to  notch  with  his  pen- 
knife a  point  to  which  the  flood  would  ultiinntoly  t(Mid  :  tlmt.  while 


MY     Gil  AND     UNCLE.  133 

gtoopmg  to  take  a  level  with  the  breast  of  the  dam,  he  lost  his 
balance,  and  was  upset  into  a  pool,  formed  by  the  encroaching 
element ;  and  that,  when  Walter  expected  to  see  him  in  a  passion 
at  this  mishap,  he  rose  laughing,  and  observed,  "  that  the  bed  of 
the  dam  was  a  damned  bad  bed ;"  which  is  said  to  be  the  only- 
pun  that  ever  was  made  in  the  Hazard  family,  and  therefore  I 
have  put  it  on  record. 

In  a  few  days,  with  the  help  of  one  or  two  rains,  the  pool  was 
jompletely  full ;  and,  to  the  infinite  pleasure  of  my  grand  uncle, 
i  thin  thread  of  water  streamed  over  one  corner  of  the  dam, — the 
most  beautiful  little  cascade  in  the  world ;  it  looked  like  a  glossy 
streamer  of  delicate  white  ribbon.  My  grand  uncle  was* delighted. 
'  There,  my  boy,"  said  he  to  "Walter,  "  there  is  Tivoli  for  you  i 
We  shall  have  our  mill  a-going  in  a  week." 

Sure  enough,  that  day  week,  off  went  the  mill.  All  the  corn 
Df  the  farm  was  brought  down  to  this  place ;  and,  for  an  hour  or 
Iwo  that  morning,  the  mill  clattered  away  as  if  it  had  been  filled 
with  a  thousand  iron-shod  devils,  all  dancing  a  Scotch  reel.  My 
grand  uncle  thumped  his  cane  upon  the  floor  with  a  look  of  tri- 
umph, whilst  his  eyes  started  from  his  head,  as  he  frequently 
exclaimed  to  the  people  about  him,  "  I  told  you  so ;  this  comes 
of  energy  and  foresight ;  this  shows  the  use  of  a  man's  faculties, 
my  boy  !" 

It  was  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  or  perhaps  two  hours, — as 
my  authority  affirms, — after  the  commencement  of  this  racket  and 
clatter  in  the  mill,  that  my  grand  uncle,  and  all  the  others  who 
were  intent  upon  the  operation,  were  a  little  surprised  to  discover 
that  the  millstone  began  to  slacken  in  its  speed ;  the  bolting  cloth 
was  manifestly  moving  lazily,  and  the  wheels  were  getting  tired. 
Presently,  a  dismal  screech  was  heard,  that  sounded  like  all  the 
trumpets  of  Pandemonium  blown  at  once  ;  it  was  a  prolonged, 
agonizing,  diabolical  note  that  went  to  the  very  soul. 


134  MY     GRAND     UNCLE. 

"  In  the  name  of  all  the  imps  of  Tartarus, — (a  famous  inter- 
jection of  my  grand  uncle,)  what  is  that?"  "It's  only  the  big 
wheel  stopped  as  chock  as  a  tombstone,"  said  the  miller,  "and  it 
naturally  screeches,  because,  you  see,  the  gudgeon  is  new,  and 
wants  grease."  Hereupon  a  court  of  inquiry  was  instituted;  and, 
leading  the  van,  followed  by  the  whole  troop,  out  went  my  grand 
uncle  to  look  at  the  head-gate.  "Well,  not  a  thing  was  to  be  seen 
there  but  a  large  solitary  bull-frog,  squatted  on  his  hams  at  the 
bottom  of  the  race,  and  looking  up  jit  his  visitors  with  the  most 
piteous  and  imploring  countenance,  as  much  as  to  say,  '•  I  assure 
you,  gentlemen,  I  am  exceedingly  astonished  at  this  extraordinary 
convulsion  myself,  which  has 'left  me,  as  you  perceive,  naked  and 
dry."  Then  the  court  proceeded  upon  their  investigation  towards 
the  dam,  to  observe  how  that  came  on. 

I  can  readily  imagine  how  my  grand  uncle  looked,  when  the 
scene  here  first  presented  itself  to  his  view.  It  must  have  been 
a  look  of  droll,  waggish,  solemn,  silent  wonder,  which,  for  the 
time,  leaves  it  a  matter  of  perfect  doubt  whether  it  is  to  terminate 
in  a  laugh  or  a  cry.  In  the  first  place,  the  beautiful  ribbon  cas- 
cade was  clean  gone.  In  the  second,  there  were  all  the  little  tus- 
socks of  the  swamp,  showing  their  small  green  heads  above  the 
surface  of  the  water,  which  would  hardly  have  covered  one's  shoe- 
top  ;  and  there  were  all  the  native  shrubs  of  the  marsh,  bending 
forwards,  in  scattered  groups,  like  a  set  of  rose  bushes  that  had 
been  visited  by  a  shower  ;  dripping  wet,  and  having  their  slender 
stalks  tangled  with  weeds ;  and  there  was,  towards  the  middle,  a 
little  line  of  rivulet  meandering  down  to  the  edge  of  the  dam, 
and  then  holding  its  unambitious  course  parallel  with  the  breast- 
work, deploying  to  the  left,  where  it  entered  the  race,  and  tripping 
along  gently,  down  to  the  very  seat  of  the  bull-frog.  "  Hoity, 
toity,"  cried  my  grand  uncle,  after  he  had  paused  Jong  enough  to 
find  speech,  "  here  is  some  mistake  in  this  matter !" 


MY     GRAND     UNCLE.  135 

Now,  it  is  a  principle  of  physics,  that  an  exhausted  receiver 
is  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  to  make  a  draught  upon.  The 
mill-dam  was  like  a  bank  that  had  paid  out  all  its  specie,  and, 
consequently,  could  not  bare  the  run  made  upon  it  by  the  big 
wheel,  which,  in  turn,  having  lost  its  credit,  stopped  payment 
with  that  hideous  yell  that  wrought  such  a  shock  upon  the  nerves 
of  my  grand  uncle. 

In  vain  did  the  old  gentleman  ransack  the  stores  of  his 
philosophy,  to  come  at  this  principle.  He  studied  the  case  for 
half  an  hour,  examined  the  dam  in  every  part,  and  was  exceed- 
ingly perplexed.  '•  Those  rascals  of  muskrats  have  been  at 
work,"  said  he.  So,  the  examination  was  conducted  to  this 
point ;  but  not  a  hole  could  be  found.  '•  The  soil  is  a  porous, 
open,  filtrating  kind  of  soil,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 

'•  It  seems  to  me,  master,"  said  an  arch  looking  negro,  who 
was  gaping  over  the  flood-gate  upon  the  muddy  waste,  '■  that  the 
mill's  run  out  of  water." 

"  Who  asked  you  for  your  opinion,  you  scoundrel  ?"  said  my 
grand  uncle  in  a  great  fury, — for  he  was  now  beginning  to  fret, — 
'•  get  out  of  my  sight,  and  hold  your  tongue  !" 

"  The  fellow  is  right,"  said  the  miller,  "  we  have  worked  out 
the  water,  that's  clear  !" 

"  It's  a  two-hour-mill,"  added  the  negro,  in  a  roice  scarcely 
audible,  taking  the  risk  o^  my  grand  uncle's  displeasure,  and 
grinning  saucily  but  good-humoredly,  as  he  spoke. 

It  is  said  that  my  grand  uncle  looked  at  the  black  with  the 
most  awful  face  he  ever  put  on  in  his  life.  It  was  blood-red 
with  auger.  But,  bethinking  himself  for  a  moment,  he  remained 
silent,  as  if  to  subdue  his  temper. 

There  was  something,  however,  in  the  simple  observation  of 
the  negro,  that  responded  exactly  to  my  grand  uncle's  secret 
thoughts  ;  and  some  such  conviction  rising  up  in  his  mind,  gradu- 


1 36  RI  y     G  R  A  N  l»     U  N  C  L  E  . 

ally  lent  its  aid  to  smother  his  wrath.  How  could  he  beat  the 
poor  fellow  for  speaking  the  truth  !  It  was, — and  he  now  saw  it 
written  in  characters  that  could  not  be  mistaken. — it  was.  after 
all  his  trouble,  and  expense,  and  fond  anticipations,  '•  a  two-hour- 
mill." 

"  Stop  the  mill,"  said  my  grand  uncle,  turning  round,  and 
speaking  in  the  mildest  voice  to  the  miller,  "  stop  the  mill ;  we 
shall  discontinue  our  work  to  day." 

"  'Squire,"  replied  the  miller,  "  the  mill  has  been  as  silent  as 
a  church  for  the  last  hour." 

"True,"  said  my  grand  uncle,  recollecting  himself;  ''come, 
Walter,  we  will  mount  our  'horses,  and  think  over  this  matter 
when  we  get  home.  It  is  very  extraordinary  !  Why  didn't  I 
foresee  this  ?  Never  mind,  we  will  have  water  enough  there  to- 
morrow, my  boy !" 

He  slowly  went  to  the  fence  corner,  and  untied  his  horse,  and 
got  up  into  his  saddle  as  leisurely  as  if  he  had  been  at  a  funeral. 
Walter  mounted  his,  and  they  both  rode  homeward  at  a  walk ; 
my  grand  uncle  whistling  Malbrouk  all  the  way,  in  an  under  key 
and  swinging  his  cane  round  and  round  by  the  tassel. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE    OLD    MILL 


It  fortunately  happened  that  a  tolerably  wet  season  followed  this 
first  experiment  of  the  mill.  But  with  all  the  advantages  of  fre- 
quent rains,  the  mortifying  truth  became  every  day  more  apparent, 
that  my  grand  uncle's  scheme  of  accommodating  the  neighbor- 
hood with  a  convenient  recourse  for  grinding  their  corn,  was  des- 
tined to  be  balked,  in  the  larger  share  of  its  usefulness,  by  that 
physical  phenomenon  which  was  disclosed  to  him  on  the  first  day 
of  his  operations ;  to  wit,  that  his  capacious  reservoir  was  emptied 
in  a  much  more  rapid  ratio  than  it  was  filled.  It  was  like  a  profli- 
gate spendthrift  whose  prodigality  exceeds  his  income.  The 
consequence  was  that  the  mill  was  obliged  to  submit  to  the  des- 
tiny of  working  from  one  to  two  hours  in  the  morning,  and  then 
to  stop  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  except  in  the  very  wet  weather  of 
the  spring,  (and  then  there  was  no  great  supply  of  corn.)  in 
order,  by  the  most  careful  husbandry,  to  wring  from  the  reluctant 
i  little  water-course  a  sufficient  fund  for  the  next  day's  employ- 
ment, 

This  was  a  serious  loss  to  the  country  around  :  for  my  grand 
uncle  had  talked  so  much  about  his  project,  and  extolled  his 
benefaction  so  largely,  that  the  people  had  laid  out  their  accounts 
to  take  all  their  grists  to  his  mill.     They  came  there,  all  through 


138 


THE     OLD     MILL 


the  summer,  in  crowds ;  and  nothing  was  more  common  than  to 
see  a  dozen  ruminative  old  horses,  with  as  many  little  bare-legged 
negroes  astride  upon  them,  with  the  large  canvas  mill-bags 
spread  out  for  saddles,  all  collect  of  a  morning  round  the  mill 
door,  each  waiting  for  his  turn  to  get  his  sack  filled.  Sometimes 
these  monkeys  were  fast  asleep  for  hours  on  their  steeds ;  and 
sometimes  they  made  great  confusion  about  the  premises  with 


their  wild  shouts,  and  screams,  and  rough-and-tumble  fights  in 
which  they  were  often  engaged.  But  it  invariably  fell  out  that 
at  least  half  were  disappointed  of  their  errands,  and  were  obliged 
to  attend  the  next  day.  In  the  dry  spells  the  mill  stopped 
altogether.  These  things  gave  great  dissatisfaction  to  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  many  good  customers  abandoned  the  mill  entirely. 
I  am  told,  also,  that  the  old  gentleman  was  singularly  unfortu* 


TIIJ']     OLD     Mil.  L.  13<J 

nate  in  his  choice  of  a  miller.  He  had  a  great  giant  of  a  fellow 
in  that  station,  who  was  remarkable  for  a  hard-favored,  knotty, 
red  head,  and  a  particularly  quarrelsome  temper.  So  that  it  of- 
ten happened,  when  the  neighbors  expostulated  in  rather  too 
severe  terms  against  the  difficulty  of  getting  their  corn  ground, 
this  functionary,  who  was  a  little  of  the  mould  of  the  ancient 
miller  as  we  read  of  him  in  the  Robin  Hood  ballads,  made  but 
few  words  of  it,  and  gave  the  remonstrants  a  sound  threshing, 
by  way  of  bringing  them  to  reason.  Then  again,  the  dam  formed 
a  large  pestilent  lake,  and,  by  its  frequent  exposure  of  the 
bottom  to  the  sun,  engendered  foul  vapors  that  made  the  coun- 
try, in  the  autumn,  very  unhealthy. 

These  circumstances,  in  process  of  time,  worked  sadly  to  the 
disparagement  of  my  grand  uncle's  profits,  and  set  the  people  to 
talking  in  harsh  terms  against  his  whole  undertaking.  They 
said  the  worst  thing  they  could  of  it.  '•  That  it  was  a  blasted 
thundergust  mill,  and  not  worth  a  man's  while  to  be  fooling  about 
it  with  his  corn,  as  long  as  he  could  get  it  ground  any  where  else, 
if  it  was  ten  miles  off!" 

In  process  of  time  the  miller  was  turned  away  ;  and  then  the 
machinery  got  out  of  order,  and  my  grand  uncle  would  not  re- 
pair ;  and  so  the  mill  came  to  a  dead  halt.  Following  the  course 
of  nature,  too,  the  dam  began  to  manifest  symptoms  of  a  prema- 
ture old  age.  First,  the  upper  beams  decayed  by  the  action  of 
the  sun  upon  them ;  after  these,  the  lower  part  of  the  structure 
broke  loose.  But  what  with  drift-wood,  and  leaves,  and  rubbish, 
the  mound,  which  constituted  the  breastwork,  remained  sufficently 
firm  to  support  the  pond  for  some  years.  It  was  a  famous  place 
for  black  snakes  and  sunfish  in  summer,  and  wild  ducks  in  win- 
ter. All  this  time  the  stream  found  a  vent  through  an  opening 
that  had  been  worn  in  the  breastwork ;  and,  consequently,  the 
race  had  become  entirely  dry,  and  grown  over  with  grass. 


140  THE     OLD     MILL. 

Year  after  year  the  surface  of  the  pond  grew  gradually  less. 
It  retreated  slowly  from  its  former  edge,  and  became  narrower. 
At  length,  at  the  breaking  up  of  one  unusually  boisterous,  wet 
and  surly  winter,  there  came  on,  in  the  month  of  March,  a  week 
of  heavy  and  incessant  rain.  This  celebrated  week  closed  with 
one  of  the  most  furious  tempests  ever  remembered  in  that  part 
of  the  country.  The  heavens  poured  down  their  wrath  upon  the 
incontinent  mill-dam ;  the  winds  rushed,  with  a  confounding  en- 
ergy, over  this  desolate  tract,  driving  the  waters  before  them  in 
torrents ;  and  away  went  the  rickety  old  breastwork,  with  all  the 
imprisoned  pool  behind  it. 

The  next  morning  the  tempest  subsided.  The  sun  smiled 
again  over  the  chilly  scene ;  and  there  was  the  fuming  and  affright- 
ed little  Apple-pie,  in  all  its  former  insignificance  Not  a  trace 
of  the  breastwork  was  left ;  and  there  was  to  be  seen  the  foul 
and  slimy  bed  of  the  mill  pond,  exposed  in  shocking  nakedness 
to  the  eye.  Long  green  tresses  of  weed,  covered  with  the  velvet 
of  many  years'  accumulation  beneath  the  surface  of  the  water, 
lay  strewed  about,  wherever  any  stubborn  shrub  occurred  to  arrest 
their  passage  ;  huge  trunks  of  trees,  moss-grown  and  rotten,  were 
imbedded  upon  the  muddy  surface ;  briers,  leaves,  and  other 
vegetable  wrecks  were  banked  up  on  each  other  in  various  forms, 
mingled,  here  and  there,  with  the  battered  and  shapeless  carcasses 
of  the  smaller  vermin  that  frequented  the  pond.  The  wind  swept 
with  a  brisk  and  whistling  speed  over  this  damp  bottom,  and 
visited,  with  a  wintry  rigor,  the  shivering  spectators  whom  curi- 
osity had  attracted  to  witness  the  ravages  of  the  night;  but,  in  the 
midst  of  all,  the  feeble  and  narrow  Apple-pie  shot  hastily  along  ; 
with  a  turbid  stream,  pursuing  his  course  through,  under,  and 
around  the  collected  impediments  in  his  path,  as  near  as  possible 
in  the  very  same  channel  whicli,  ten  or  fifteen  years  before,  he 
had  been  wont  to  inhabit ;  as  if  unconscious  that  this  disturbance 


THE     OLD     MILL.  141 

in  the  face  of  nature  could  be  attributed,  in  the  slightest  degree, 
to  such  an  inefficient  and  trifling  imp  as  himself :  by  no  means  an 
unimpressive  type  of  the  confusion  and  riot  which  the  most  sordid 
and  paltry  passions  may  produce  in  the  moral  world,  when  suffered 
to  gather  up  and  gangrene  in  the  system. 

As  I  have  introduced  this  narrative  to  make  my  reader  ac- 
quainted with  the  merits  of  the  controversy  relative  to  the  boun- 
dary line,  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  inform  him,  that  when  my 
grand  uncle  first  entered  upon  this  project  of  the  mill,  he  imme- 
diately opened  a  negotiation  with  Mr.  Gilbert  Tracy,  his  neigh- 
bor,— who  was  at  that  time  the  proprietor  of  The  Brakes, — for 
the  purchase  of  so  much  of  the  land,  or  rather  of  the  marsh,  which 
lay  eastward  of  the  Apple-pie  Branch,  as  was  sufficient  for  the 
projected  mill-dam.  I  have  already  told  my  readers  that  the 
Branch  itself  was  the  dividing  line  between  the  two  estates ;  and, 
consequently,  my  grand  uncle  was  already  in  possession  of  all 
westward  of  that  line.  In  his  communications  with  Mr.  Gilbert 
Tracy  on  this  subject,  he  unfolded  his  whole  scheme,  and,  without 
the  least  difficulty,  obtained  the  purchase  he  desired.  There  were 
several  letters  passed  between  them,  which  stated  the  purpose 
contemplated ;  and  the  deed  that  was  executed  on  the  occasion 
also  recites,  that  "  Edward  Hazard,  Esquire,  of  Swallow  Barn, 
conceiving  it  to  be  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  the  good  peo- 
ple residing  on,  frequenting  and  using  the  lands  in  the  vicinage 
of  the  stream  of  water,  commonly  known  and  called  by  the  name 
of  the  Apple-pie  Branch,  that  a  convenient  and  serviceable  mill, 
adapted  to  the  grinding  of  wheat,  rye,  and  Indian  corn,  should  be 
constructed  on  the  said  Apple-pie,  &c. ;"  and  also,  '•  that  the  said 
Edward  Hazard,  Esquire,  having  carefully  considered  the  capa- 
city, fall,  force  of  water,  head  and  permanency  of  the  said  Apple- 
pie  Branch  for  the  maintenance  and  supply  of  a  mill  as  aforesaid ; 
and  being  convinced  and  certified  of  the  full  and  perfect  fitness  of 


142  THE     OLD     MILL. 

tlie  same,  for  tlic  purposes  aforesaid ;"  the  said  Gilbert  Tracy 
transferred,  &c.,  a  full  title  '•  to  so  much  of  the  said  land  as  it  may 
be  found  useful  and  necessary  to  occupy  in  the  accomplishment 
of  the  said  design,  &c.;  the  said  Edward  Hazard  paying  therefor 
at  the  rate  of  one  pound,  current  money  of  Virginia,  for  each  and 
every  acre  thereof" 

By  this  conveyance,  the  western  limit  of  The  Brakes  was  re- 
moved from  the  channel  of  the  Branch  to  the  water  edge  of  the 
mill-pond,  as  soon  as  the  same  should  be  created. 

My  grand  uncle,  after  the  failure  of  his  scheme,  could  never 
bear  to  talk  about  it.  It  fretted  him  exceedingly ;  and  he  was 
sure  to  get  into  a  passion  whenever  it  was  mentioned.  He  swore 
at  it,  and  said  a  great  many  harsh  things ;  for,  I  am  told,  he 
was  naturally  a  passionate  man,  and  was  not  very  patient  under 
contradiction.  He  would  not  even  go  near  the  place,  but  gen- 
erally took  some  pains,  in  his  rides,  to  avoid  it.  When  they  told 
him  that  the  storm  had  carried  away  the  dam,  he  broke  out  with 
one  of  his  usual  odd  kind  of  oaths,  and  said,  "  he  was  glad  of  it ; 
it  was  a  hyperbolisal,  preposterous  abortion  ; — he  must  have  been 
under  the  influence  of  the  moon  when  he  conceived  it,  and  of 
Satan  when  he  brought  it  forth-;  and  he  rejoiced  that  the  winds 
of  heaven  had  obliterated  every  monument  of  his  folly."  Besides 
this,  he  said  many  other  things  of  it  equally  severe. 

The  date  of  this  freak  of  the  old  gentleman  was  somewhere 
about  the  middle  of  the  last  century.     The  ruin  of  the  mill  is  still; 
to  be  seen.     Its  roof  has  entirely  disappeared  ;  a  part  of  the  walls' 
are  yet  standing,  and  the  shaft  of  the  great  wheel,  with  one  or  two 
of  the  pinions  attached,  still  lies  across  its  appropriate  bed.     The 
spot  is  embowered  with  ancierht  beech  trees,  and  forms  a  pleasant; 
and  serene  picture  of  woodland  quiet.     The  track  of  the  race  is : 
to  be  traced  by  some  obscure  vestiges,  and  two  mounds  remain,' 
showing  the  abutments  of  tlie  dam.     A  range  of  light  willows 


THE     OLD     MILL.  143 

grows  upon  what  I  presume  was  once  the  edge  of  the  mill-pond ; 
but  the  intervening  marsh  presents  now,  as  of  old.  its  complicated 
thickets  of  water  plants,  amongst  which  the  magnolia,  at  its  ac- 
customed season,  exhibits  its  beautiful  flower,  and  throws  abroad 
its  rich  perfume. 

Before  the  period  of  the  Revolutionary  war,  Grilbcrt  Tracy 
paid  the  debt  of  nature.  The  present  proprietor,  his  eldest  son, 
inherited  his  estate.  Old  Edward  Hazard  figured  in  that  mo- 
mentous struggle,  and  lived  long  enough  after  its  close  to  share, 
with  many  gallant  spirits  of  the  time,  the  glories  of  its  triumph. 
Isaac,  the  son  of  his  old  friend,  preserved  a  neutral  position  in 
the  contest ;  and,  being  at  heart  a  thorough-going  loyalist,  the  in- 
tercourse between  him  and  the  family  at  Swallow  Barn  grew,  rare 
and  unsocial.  The  political  principles  of  the  two  families  were 
widely  at  variance  ;  and,  in  those  times,  such  differences  had  their 
influence  upon  the  private  associations  of  life.  Still  it  is  be- 
lieved, and  I  suppose  with  some  foundation  for  the  opinion,  that 
the  good  offices  of  my  grand  uncle,  secretly  exerted,  and  without 
even  the  knowledge  of  Mr.  Tracy,  had  the  effect  to  preserve  The 
Brakes  from  confiscation, — the  common  misfortune  of 'the  dis- 
affected in  the  war :  an  affectionate  remembrance  of  his  old  friend 
Grilbert,  and  the  youth  of  the  successor  to  the  estate  at  that  time, 
being  imagined  to  have  actuated  Edward  Hazard  in  this  manifes- 
tation of  kindness. 

My  grand  uncle,  very  soon  after  the  peace,  was  gathered  to 
his  fathers,  and  has  left  behind  him  a  name,  of  which,  as  I  have 

before  remarked,  the  family  are  proud.  Amongst  the  monu- 
ments which  still  exist  to  recall  him  to  memory,  I  confess  the  old 
mill,  to  me,  is  not  the  least  endearing.  Its  history  has  a  whim- 
sical bearing  upon  his  character,  illustrating  his  ardent,  uncalcu- 
lating  zeal ;  his  sanguine  temperament ;  his  public  spirit ;  his 
odd  perceptions  ;  and  that  dash  of  comic,  headstrong  humorous- 


144  THE     ULD     MILL. 

ness  that,  I  think,  has  reappeared,  after  the  shifting  of  one  gen- 
eration, in  Ned. 

I,  accordingly,  frequently  go  with  Ned  to  this  spot ;  and,  as 
we  stretch  ourselves  out  upon  the  grass,  in  the  silent  shade  of  the 
beech  trees,  or  wander  around  the  old  ruin,  the  spot  becomes 
peopled  to  our  imaginations  with  the  ancient  retainers  of  Swal- 
low Barn ;  the  fiery-headed  miller ;  the  elvish  little  negroes  who 
have  probably  all  sunk,  hoary-headed,  to  the  grave,  leaving  their 
effigies  behind,  as  perfect  as  in  the  days  when  they  themselves 
rode  to  mill ;  and  last  of  all,  our  venerable  ancestors. 

Out  of  these  materials,  we  fabricate  some  amusing  and  touch- 
ing stories. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


PROCEEDINGS     AT    LAW. 


It  was  about  the  year  1790,  that  my  uncle  Walter  began  to  turn 
his  attention  to  the  condition  of  the  Apple-pie  frontier. 

Until  this  time,  ever  since  the  miscarriage  of  the  unfortunate 
enterprise  of  the  mill,  this  part  of  the  domain  had  been  grievously 
neglected.  It  was  a  perfect  wilderness.  No  fences  had  ever  been 
erected,  on  either  side,  to  guard  the  contiguous  territories  from 
encroachment ;  and  there  were  numerous  cowpaths  leading  into 
the  thickets,  which  afforded  a  passage,  though  somewhat  compli- 
cated, from  the  one  estate  to  the  other.  The  soil  was  cold  and 
barren,  and  no  cultivation,  therefore,  was  expended  upon  this 
quarter.  In  fact,  it  may  be  said  to  have  belonged  to  the  colts, 
pigs,  heifers,  racoons,  opossums  and  rabbits  of  both  proprietors. 
The  negroes  still  consider  it  the  finest  place  in  the  whole  country 
to  catch  vermin,  as  they  call  the  three  latter  species  of  animals ; 
and  I  myself  frequently,  in  my  ranges  through  this  region,  en 
counter  their  various  gins  and  snares  set  in  the  many  by-paths 
that  cross  it. 

The  tract  of  marsh  land,  occupied  by  the  dam  in  old  times, 

did  not  exceed,  on  the   Tracy  side  of  the  Branch,  above  thirty 

I  acres.     It  was  a  slip  of  about  half  a  mile  in  length,  and  perhaps, 

at  its  widest  part,  not  more  than  two  hundred  yards  broad,  that 


146  PROCEEDINGS     AT     LAW. 

bordered  on  that  side  of  the  Branch.  This  slip,  of  course,  con- 
stituted the  subject  matter  of  my  grand  uncle's  purchase  from 
Mr.  Gilbert  Tracy. 

It  occurred  to  Walter  Hazard,  about  the  period  I  have  referred 
to  above,  that  this  bottom  might  be  turned  to  some  account,  if  it 
were  well  drained,  cleaned  of  its  rank  growth  of  brushwood,  and 
exposed  to  the  sun  and  then  set  in  grass.  It  would  doubtless, 
he  thought,  make  an  excellent  pasture  for  his  cattle  ;  and,  at  all 
events,  would  contribute  to  render  the  surrounding  country  more 
healthy. 

If  my  uncle  Walter  had  been  a  man  in  the  least  degree  given 
to  superstitious  influences,  he  would  have  seen,  in  the  ill-fated 
schemes  of  his  father  in  this  direction,  the  most  inauspicious 
omens  against  his  success  in  his  contemplated  achievement.  But 
he  was  a  man  who  never  thought  of  omens,  and  was  now  altogether 
intent  upon  adding  a  convenient  meadow  to  his  estate. 

It  seemed  that  the  Apple-pie  was  to  be  the  fountain  of  an 
Iliad  of  troubles  to  the  Hazard  family. 

When  Walter  Hazard  was  ready  to  go  to  work,  somewhere 
about  midsummer,  he  turned  in  twenty  hands  upon  the  marsh, 
and  forthwith  constructed  some  rectangular  ditches,  traversing  it 
upon  both  sides  of  the  branch,  sufficiently  near  to  carry  oif  the  i 
waic-r.     Whilst  he  was  employed  at  this  work,  and  not  dreaming 
of  any  other  obstacles  than  those  that  were  before  his  eyes,  he  : 
was   exceedingly  surprised  to  receive  a  letter  from   Mr.  Isaac 
Tracy,  which,  m  the  most  friendly  and  polite  terms,  intimatedv 
that   the  writer  had  just  been   made  acquainted  with   Captain 
Hazard's  (my  uncle  always  bore  this  title  after  the  war,)  design 
of  draining  the  marsh ;  and  regretted  to  learn  that  he  had  as 
sumed  a  proprietary  right  over  a  portion  of  the  domain  that  ap- 
pertained to  The  Brakes.     The  letter  proceeded  to  acquaint  mv 
uncle   that  this  infringement  involved  a  question  affecting  tlu 


PROCEEDINGS     AT     LAW.  147 

family  dignity  ;  and,  therefore,  it  was  suggested,  that  it  became 
necessary  to  remonstrate  against  it,  more  from  considerations  of 
a  personal  nature,  than  from  any  regard  to  the  value  of  the  soil 
thus  brought  into  dispute. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Tracy  had,  for  some  time  past, 
been  revolving  in  his  mind  this  subject,  to  wit, — the  right  of 
ownership  over  the  bed  of  the  mill-dam,  after  the  accident  that 
brought  it  again  into  the  condition  in  which  it  existed  before  the 
erection  of  the  mill.  He  had  examined  the  deed  from  his  father, 
part  of  which  I  have  recited  in  a  former  chapter,  and  that  docu- 
ment favored  the  conclusion,  that  as  the  grant  had  been  made  for 
a  specific  purpose,  the  failure  of  that  purpose  restored  the  original 
owner  to  all  his  former  prerogatives. 

This  brought  him  to  studying  the  law  of  the  matter,  and  he 
soon  became  perfectly  assured  that  he  understood  all  about  it. 
In  short,  he  took  up  a  bold,  peremptory  and  dogged  opinion,  that 
he  was  in, — as  he  remarked, — of  his  former  estate  :  that  it  was  a 
grant  durante  the  existence  of  the  mill-pond :  a  feoffment  defeasi- 
ble upon  condition  subsequent,  and  a  dozen  such  other  dogmas 
which  tickled  the  worthy  gentleman  excessively,  when  they  once 
made  a  lodgment  in  his  brain.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world,  I 
believe,  that  produces  a  m6re  sudden  glory  in  the  mind,  than  the 
first  conceits  of  a  man  who  has  made  some  few  acquisitions  in  an 
abstruse  science ;  he  is  never  at  rest  until  he  makes  some  show 
of  his  stock  to  the  world ;  and  I  have  observed  that  this  remark 
is  particularly  applicable  to  those  who  have  got  a  smattering  of 
law.  Mr.  Tracy  ran  off  with  the  thing  at  full  speed.  He  affected 
to  consult  his  lawyer  upon  the  matter,  but  always  silenced  all  at- 
tempts of  that  adviser  to  explain,  by  talking  the  whole  time  him- 
self, and  leaving  him  without  an  answer. 

It  was  in  the  height  of  this  fervor  that  he  received  the  infor- 
mation of  my  uncle's  proceedings  ;  and  it  was  with  a  kind  of  ex- 


148  PROCEEDINGS     AT     LAW. 

ultation  and  inward  chuckling  over  the  certainty  of  his  rights, 
that  he  sat  down  and  addressed  Captain  Hazard  the  letter  of 
which  I  have  spoken.  There  was  another  sentiment  equally  ac- 
tive in  Mr.  Tracy's  mind  to  spur  him  on  to  this  action.  The 
lord  of  a  freehold  coming  by  descent  through  two  or  three  genera- 
tions, and  especially  if  he  be  the  tenant  in  tail,  is  as  tenacious  as 
a  German  Prince  of  every  inch  of  his  dominions.  There  is  a 
seigniorial  pride  attached  to  his  position,  and  the  invasion  of  the 
most  insignificant  outpost  conveys  an  insult  to  the  lawful  supre- 
macy ;  it  manifests  a  contemptuous  defiance  of  the  feudal  dignity. 
Mr.  Tracy  felt  all  this  on  the  present  occasion,  and,  perhaps, 
rather  more  acutely  in  consequence  of  the  partial  alienation  be- 
tween his  own  and  his  neighbor's  family,  produced  by  the  late 
political  events,  and  which  was,  at  this  period,  but  very  little  re- 
moved. 

The  letter  came  upon  my  uncle  like  a  gauntlet  thrown  at  his 
feet.  He  was  somewhat  choleric  in  temper,  and  his  first  impulse 
was  to  make  a  quarrel  of  it.  It  seemed  to  him  to  imply  a  dis- 
honest intrusion. 

However,  when  he  came  to  consider  it  more  maturely,  he 
could  find  no  fault  either  with  its  tone  or  its  temper.  It  was  a 
frank,  polite,  and  seemly  letter  enough :  "  If  it  was  BIr.  Tracy's 
land,"  said  my  uncle,  "  he  certainly  had  a  right  to  say  so  :"  and 
in  truth,  as  he  thought  more  about  it,  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  looked  well  to  see  a  gentleman  inclined  to  stand  by  his 
rights  :  it  was  what  every  man  of  property  ought  to  do  ! 

In  this  feeling,  my  uncle  wrote  his  reply  to  Mr.  Tracy's  let- 
ter, and  filled  it  with  every  observance  of  courtesy,  but,  at  the 
game  time,  steadily  gainsaying  his  neighbor's  opinions  of  the 
right,  and  desiring  that  the  matter  should  be  investigated  for 
their  mutual  satisfaction.  This  communication  was  followed  by 
the  instant  withdrawal  of  his  people  from  the  debatable  ground, 
and,  for  the  time,  with  an  abandonment  of  the  meadow  scheme. 


P  li  ( '  (.  i:  L:  ])  1  \  G  .S     AT     L  A  w .  1  19 

Never  were  there,  in  ancient  days  of  bull-headed  chivalry, 
when  contentious  monk,  bishop  or  knight  appealed  to  fiery  ordeal, 
cursed  morsel,  or  wager  of  battle,  two  antagonists  better  fitted  for 
contest  than  the  worthies  of  my  present  story.  My  uncle  had 
been  a  seasoned  campaigner  of  the  Revolution,  with  a  sturdy  soul 
set  in  an  iron  frame,  and  had  grown,  by  force  of  habit,  a  resolute 
and  impregnable  defender  of  his  point.  Mr.  Tracy,  I  have  al- 
ready described  as  the  most  enamored  man  in  the  world  of  an 
argument.  And  here  they  were,  with  as  pretty  a  field  before 
them  as  ever  was  spoiled  by  your  peace-makers.  The  value  of 
the  controversy  not  one  groat ;  its  issue,  connected  with  the  deep- 
est sentiment  that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  hearts  of  both, — the 
pride  of  conquest  ! 

Mr.  Tracy's  first  measure  was  to  write  a  long  dissertation 
upon  the  subject,  in  the  shape  of  an  epistle,  to  my  uncle.  It  was 
filled  with  discussions  upon  reversionary  interests,  resulting  uses, 
and  all  the  jargon  of  the  books,  plentifully  embellished  with  a 
prodigious  array  of  learning,  contained  in  pithy  Latin  maxims,  in 
which  the  lawyers  are  wont  to  invest  meager  and  common  thoughts 
with  the  veil  of  science.  It  was  filled,  moreover,  with  illustra- 
tions and  amplifications  and  exaggerations,  the  fruit  of  a  severe 
and  learned  study  of  his  case  by  the  writer. 

Then  followed  my  uncle's  reply,  in  which  it  was  clear  that  he 
did  not  understand  a  word  of  the  argument  that  was  intended  to 
prostrate  him.  After  this  came  rejoinder  and  surrejoinder,  and 
reduplications  of  both,  poured  in  by  broadsides.  Never  was  thero 
so  brisk  a  tourney  of  dialectics  known  on  the  banks  of  the  James 
River  !  The  disputants,  now  and  then,  became  sharp,  and  my 
uncle,  whenever  this  was  the  case,  obtained  a  decided  advantage 
l?y  a  certain  caustic  humor,  which  he  handled  with  great  dex- 
terity. 

Eventually,  as  it  might  have  been  foreseen,  they  resolved  to  go  to 
law,  and  institute  an  amicable  ejectment.     Here  a  difficulty  arose. 


15C  PROCEEDINGS     AT     LAW. 

It  was  hard  to  determine  wliich  should  be  plaintiff,  and  which 
defendant ;  since  it  was  not  quite  clear  who  was  in  possession. 
Mr.  Tracy  insisted,  with  all  imaginable  politeness,  upon  making 
my  uncle  the  compliment  of  appearing  as  the  plaintiff  in  the  action, 
^Yhich  the  latter  obstinately  refused,  inasmuch  as  he  was  unwilling 
it  should  be  understood  by  the  world  that  the  suit  had  been  one 
of  his  seeking.  This  was  adjusted,  at  last,  by  Mr.  Tracy's  com- 
mencing the  proceeding  himself  It  began  in  the  county  court ; 
and  then  went  to  the  superior  court ;  and  then  to  the  court  of  ap- 
peals. This  occupied  some  years.  All  the  decisions,  so  far  as  they 
had  gone  had  been  in  favor  of  my  uncle ;  but  there  were  mistakes 
made  in  important  points,  and  proofs  omitted,  and  papers  neglected 
to  be  filed.  Mr.  Tracy  was  deeply  vexed  at  the  issue,  and  waxed 
warm.  So,  the  whole  proceedings  were  commenced  anew,  and 
carried  a  second  time  through  the  same  stages.  The  principal 
points  were  still  in  my  uncle's  favor.  His  antagonist  bit  his  lips, 
affirmed  the  utter  impregnability  of  his  first  positions,  and  resolved 
not  to  give  up  the  point.  Never  was  there  a  case  so  fruitful 
of  subdivisions  !  Jury  after  jury  was  brought  to  bear  upon 
it;  and  twenty  times  every  trace  of  the  original  controversy 
was  entirely  out  of  sight.  At  length  they  got  into  chancery,  and 
then  there  was  the  deuce  to  pay  ! 

Year  after  year  rolled  away,  and  sometimes  the  pretty  littlol 
quarrel  slept,  like  the  enchanted  princess,  as  if  it  was  not  to  wake: 
again  for  a  century.  And  then  again,  all  of  a  sudden,  it  was 
waked  up,  and  shoved  and  tossed  and  thumped  and  rolled  andij 
racketed  about,  like  Diogenes'  tub. 

It  was  observable,  throughout  all   this  din  and  bustle,  that 
Mr.  Tracy  was  completely  driven   out  of  every  intrenchment  r 
law  and  fact ;  which,  so  far  from  having  the  effect  of  moderatin 
his  opinion  or  his  zeal,  set  him  into  a  more  thorough  and  vigorous 
asseveration  of  his  first  principles. 


PllOCEE  DINGS     AT     LAW.  151 

He  affirmed  that  the  juries  were  the  most  singularly  obtuse 
and  obstinate  bodies  he  had  ever  encountered;  and  that  the 
courts  were,  beyond  all  question,  the  most  incurably  opinionated 
tribunals  that  ever  were  formed. 

In  the  height  of  this  warfare,  the  death  of  the  defendant,  my 
uncle,  occurred ;  which  for  some  years  again  lulled  all  hostilities 
into  a  profound  slumber.  After  a  long  interval,  however,  the 
contest  was  resumed ;  and  it  now  fell  to  the  lot  of  Frank  Meri- 
wether to  enter  the  lists.  No  man  could  be  more  indisposed  by 
nature  to  such  an  enterprise  ;  arnd  it  was  plainly  discernible  that 
our  old  friend  of  The  Brakes  was  also  beginning,  in  his  old  age, 
to  relax  into  a  pacific  temper. 

It  must  be  remarked,  that  during  the  latter  years  of  this 
struggle  the  two  families  had  grown  to  be  upon  a  very  intimate 
footing,  and  that  at  no  period  had  the  legal  disquiets  the  least 
influence  whatever  upon  the  private  regards  of  the  parties. 

In  order,  therefore,  to  get  rid  of  the  troubles  of  carrying  on 
the  debate,  Frank  Meriwether  had  thrown  out  some  hints  of  a 
disposition  to  settle  the  whole  affair  by  a  reference  to  mutual 
friends  ;  and  would  gladly  at  any  time  have  relinquished  all  claim 
to  the  disputed  territory,  if  he  could  have  contrived  to  do  so 
without  wounding  the  feelings  of  his  neighbor,  who  was  now  sin- 
gularly tenacious,  to  have  it  appear  that  his  only  object  in  the 
pursuit  was  to  vindicate  his  first  decided  impressions.  The  old 
gentleman,  therefore,  readily  agreed  to  the  arbitration,  and  still 
fed  his  vanity  with  the  hope  that  he  should  find  in  the  private 
judgment  of  impartial  men,  a  sound,  practical,  common  sense  jus- 
tification of  his  original  grounds  in  the  controversy. 

This  result  is  to  be  risked  upon  the  opinions  of  Singleton 
Oglethorpe  Swansdown  and  Philpot  Wart,  Esquires,  who  are  im- 
mediately to  convene  for  the  consideration  of  this  momentous 
subject. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


STRANGE     SYMPTOMS, 


It  will  be  recollected,  that  before  my  digression  to  show  the 
merits  of  the  question  touching  the  boundary  line,  I  left  Mr. 
Swansdown  seated,  after  tea,  at  a  game  of  whist.  This  game  is 
a  special  favorite  in  the  low  country  of  Virginia,  and  possesses  an 
absorbing  interest  for  Meriwether.  Prudence  is  not  behind  her 
brother  either  in  the  skill  or  the  devotion  of  a  thorough-bred 
player ;  and  Harvey  Kiggs  may  very  justly  be  set  down  as  pre- 
eminent in  this  accomplishment.  The  poet  and  philosopher  was 
the  only  one  of  the  party  at  the  table  who  may  be  said  to  have 
ever  been  at  fault  during  the  evening. 

I  do  not  pretend  myself  to  be  well  versed  in  the  mysteries  of 
this  silent  and  cogitative  recreation ;  but  I  have  often  had  occa- 
sion to  observe  that  a  genuine  whist-player  is  apt,  for  the  time, 
to  be  one  of  the  most  querulous  of  mortals.  He  makes  fewer 
allowances  for  the  frailty  of  his  brethren  than  any  other  member 
of  society.  The  sin  of  not  following  suit,  or  losing  a  trick,  or  not 
throwing  out  a  good  card  in  the  right  place,  is,  in  his  eyes,  almost 
inexpiable,  and  does  not  fail  to  bring  down  upon  the  delinquent 
that  sharp,  unmitigated  and  direct  rebuke  that  implies,  "you 
must  be  a  blockhead,  or  you  never  would  liave  thought  of  doing 
so  stupid  a  thing !"     This  is  sometimes  insinuated  in  a  look, 


STRANGE     SYAirXOMS.  153 

sometimes  conveyed  in  a  question,  and  often  inferred  by  a  simple 
ejaculation. 

Swansdown  is  not  uufrequently  taken  to  task  by  his  antago- 
nists. Harvey  Riggs  stops,  puts  down  his  cards  upon  the  table, 
and,  with  a  biting  affectation  of  mildness,  observes,  '•  Keally,  Mr. 
Swansdown,  if  I  could  only  count  upon  your  observing  the  rules 
of  the  game,  I  should  know  what  to  play  ;  but  as  it  is,  I  am  ex- 
ceedingly perplexed ! "  Even  Frank  Meriwether,  with  all  his 
benignant  impulses,  sometimes  throws  himself  back  into  his  chair, 
and  putting  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  draws  it  slowly  down 
to  his  chin,  as  if  studying  a  contingency  which,  from  the  play  of 
the  other  party,  has  baffled  his  calculations ;  and  sometimes 
he  breaks  out  into  an  interjectional  whistle,  and  comes  down 
suddenly  with  a  card  upon  the  table,  as  he  says,  '•  Now,  Mr. 
Swansdown,  I  believe  you  have  given  me  that  trick  !  "  To  all 
these  implied  imputations  against  his  dexterity,  ftie  gentleman 
replies  in  the  most  polite  manner  imaginable, — with  a  lambent 
smile  upon  his  features, — by  a  compliment  to  the  superior  ad- 
dress of  his  partner,  expressive  of  his  reliance  upon  her  ability  to 
j-escue  him  from  the  fatal  tendency  of  his  own  errors. 

It  is  quite  perceivable  that  Prudence  by  no  means  joins  in 
this  vituperation  of  her  coadjutor;  but,  on  the  contrary,  frequent- 
ly checks  the  license  of  the  other  two,  and  says  many  things  in 
extenuation  of  his  aberrations  from  the  laws  of  the  game.  In- 
deed, I  think  she  carries  this  vindication  further  than  his  case 
requires.  But  it  never  fails  to  produce  a  grateful  recognition 
from  him,,  and  a  frequent  attempt  to  excuse  himself  upon  the 
ground,  that  Miss  Prudence  has  herself  to  blame,  as  her  conver- 
sation is  very  much  calculated  to  seduce  such  a  tyro  as  he  is  from 
the  proper  study  of  his  part  in  the  play.  At  all  such  sallies, 
Prudence  looks  modestly ;  readjusts  herself  in  her  seat,  and 
smiles  upon  the  poet. 


154  STRANGE     SYMPTOMS. 

Before  the  party  broke  up  the  lady  was  quite  animated.  Her 
demeanor  was  characterized  by  a  certain  restless  attempt  at 
composure,  and  a  singularly  vivacious  kind  of  sobriety — partly 
sentimental,  partly  witty,  and  exceedingly  lady-like.  I  will  not 
say  she  has  designs  upon  the  peace  of  our  new  guest,  but  it  looks 
prodigiously  like  it ! 

When  she  retired  to  her  chamber,  she  was  manifestly  under 
some  serious  or  strange  influences.    It  is  reported  of  her,  that  she 
sang  one  or  two  plaintive  songs ;  showed  a  slight  disposition  to 
romp,  above  stairs,  with  Lucy  and  Vic ;  then  she  took  a  seat  in 
her  open  window,  looked  out  on  the  moon,  and  '•  fette  a  gentil 
sigh  " — in  the  phrase  of  the  lady  of  the  ballads.     It  is,  moreover, 
reported,  that  she  remained  in  the  window  until  long  past  mid- 
night.   Something  ailed  her  ;  but  it  was  not  told  !    Perhaps  some 
soft  and  blandishing  vision  floated  before  her  pensive  eye  ;  some 
form  from  th^ fairy  world  of  her  imagination,  at  this  hour  wore 
its  robes  of  light,  and  careered  upon  the  moonbeam,  or  bounded 
with  the  silver  ray  along  the  tree-tops  that  fluttered  in  the  dewy 
breeze  !  or,  perchance,  in  the-  deep  shades  of  the  grove  that  slept 
in  dark  masses  before  her  chamber  lattice,  the  spectres  of  her 
thought  beckoned  her  regards,  and  filled  her  mind  with  new  and 
holy  contemplations !  I  am  all  unlearned  in  the  mystery   of  so 
serene  a  creature's  secret  communions ;  and  it  does  not  become 
me  to  indulge  conjecture  upon  such  a  perilous  question.     I  there- 
fore content  myself  with  reporting  the  simple  fact,  tliat  in  that 
window  she  sat,  to  all  appearance  doing  nothing,   until   every 
other  sentient  being  at  Swallow  Barn  was  hushed  in  sleep.    What 
could  it  mean  ? 

The  next  morning  there  was  another  phenomenon  exhibited 
in  the  family,  equally  strange.  An  hour  before  breakfast.  Pru- 
dence, arrayed  with  unusual  neatness,  was  seated  at  the  piano, 
apparently  beguiling  the  early  day  with  the  rehear.^al  of  a  whole 


STE.ANGE     SYMPTOMS.  155 

volume  of  sonnets.  This  was  an  unwonted  cfibrt,  for  her  music 
had  fallen,  of  late,  into  disrelish, — and  it  had  been  supposed,  for  a 
year  past,  that  she  had  bidden  a  careless  adieu  to  all  its  charms. 
But  this  morning  she  resumed  it  with  a  spirit  and  a  perseverance 
that  attracted  the  notice  of  all  the  domestics.  It  boded,  in  their 
simple  reckonings,  some  impending  disaster.  Such  a  change  in 
the  lady's  habits  could  import  no  good!  They  intimated,  that 
when  people  were  going  to  give  up  the  ghost,  such  marvels  were 
the  not  unusual  precursors  of  the  event.  '•  It  was  as  bad,"  one  of 
the  servant  maids  remarked,  "'  as  to  hear  a  hen  crow  at  night 
from  the  roost,  and  she  shouldn't  wonder  if  something  was  going 
to  happen, — a  burying,  or  a  wedding,  or  some  such  dreadful 
thing !" 

But  Prudence' was  not  melancholy.  On  the  contrary,  she 
smiled,  and  seemed  more  cheerful  than  ever. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  Swansdown  passed  an  hoiM"  or  two  in  the 
parlor,  and  fascinated  the  ladies  by  the  pleasantry  of  his  dis- 
course. He  fell  into  a  conversation  with  Prudence  upon  literary 
topics,  and  nothing  could  be  more  refreshing  than  to  hear  how 
much  she  had  read,  and  how  passionately  she  admired  !  It  was 
hard  to  tell  which  was  best  pleased  with  this  comparison  of 
opinions — it  was  so  congenial !  Prudence  proclaimed  Cowper  to 
be  her  favorite  bard,  and  that  was  exactly  Swansdown's  prefer- 
ence. They  both  disliked  the  immorality  of  Byron,  and  admired 
Scott.  And  both  recited  delicious  lines  from  -  The  Pleasures  of 
Hope." — "'Tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view."  de- 
claimed Swansdown,  following  the  line  up  with  twenty  more. 
'-  'Tis  distance,"  echoed  Prudence, — as  if  it  had  been  a  simulta- 
neous thought. — and  responded  throughout,  in  a  softer  voice,  and 
with  an  enraptured  eye,  to  the  whole  recitation.  Good  souls  ! 
Delightful  unison  !  Why  has  cruel  fate — Pooh  !  Nonsense  !  I  shall 
grow  sentimental  myself,  if  I  say  another  word  about  them  ! 


156  STRANGE     SYMPTOMS. 

Before  noon,  Swansdown's  equipage  was  at  the  door.  Meri- 
wether had  arranged  the  examination  of  the  boundary  line  to 
take  place  on  Wednesday  next.  In  the  mean  time,  the  belliger- 
ent parties,  on  either  side,  were  to  make  their  hostile  prepara- 
tions. 

With  the  most  gracious  condescension,  the  philosopher,  poet, 
patron,  arbitrator,  and  aspiring  statesman,  ascended  his  radiant 
car,  and  whisked  away  with  the  brisk  and  astounding  flourish 
that  belongs  to  this  race  of  gifted  mortals. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    NATIONAL     ANNIVERSARY 


The  event  with  wliicli  I  hare  closed  the  last  chapter,  took 
place  on  the  morning  of  the  Fourth  of  July,  a  day  that  is  never 
without  its  interest  even  in  the  most  secluded  parts  of  our 
country.  It  was  to  be  celebrated  at  "  The  Landing,"  a  place 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  distant,  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  where 
the  small  river  boats  are  usually  moored  to  take  in  their  cargoes. 
To  this  spot  Ned  proposed  that  we  should  ride  after  dinner. 

It  was  a  holiday ;  so  Rip  had  permission  to  accompany  us, 
and  Carey  was  directed  to  have  our  horses  at  the  door.  We  were 
amused  to  find  that  the  old  groom  had  not  only  brought  out  our 
own  cavalry,  but  also  a  horse  for  himself;  and  there  he  stood 
holding  our  bridles,  arrayed  in  his  best  coat,  with  a  pair  of  old 
top-boots  drawn  over  loose  pantaloons  of  striped  cotton  which 
were  scrupulously  clean.  He  wore  his  spurs,  and  carried  also  a 
riding-whip.  His  mien  was  unusually  brisk,  and,  after  an  ancient 
fashion,  coxcombical.  He  ventured  to  tell  us  that  Master  Frank 
thought  he  ought  to  attend  us  to  the  Landing,  "  as  there  was 
goings  on  down  there,  upon  account  of  the  fourth  of  July." 
The  truth  was,  that  learning  our  destination  he  had  slipped  off  to 
Meriwether  to  ask  his  permission  to  go  with  us. 

Our  aged  squire  rode  at  a  mannerly  distance  behind  us ;  and 


158  THE  NATIONAL  ANNIVERSARY. 

Rip,  on  a  liard-moutlied  and  obstinate  colt,  that  belonged  to  him, 
trotted  by  our  sides,  with  both  hands  pulling  in  the  bridle,  and 
his  legs  thrust  forward  to  enable  him  to  counteract  the  constant 
tendency  of  his  steed  to  run  away.  Eip  protests  that  Spitfire — 
for  so  he  calls  his  colt — is  the  easiest-going  animal  on  the  place, 
although  each  particular  step  lifted  him  at  least  six  inches  above 
his  saddle,  and  almost' entirely  stopped  his  talking,  because  the 
motion  shook  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  somewhat  in  the  same 
manner  that  water  comes  out  of  a  bottle.  However,  no  man  ever 
thinks  ill  of  his  horse. 

Our  road  lay  through  thickets  of  pine,  in  the  shade  of  which 
we  advanced  rapidly,  and  we  soon  reached  the  Landing,  There 
are  very  few  villages  in  the  tide-water  country  of  Virginia ;  it  is 
intersected  by  so  many  rivers,  that  almost  every  plantation  may 
be  approached  sufficiently  near  by  trading  vessels  to  gratify  the 
demands  of  the  population,  without  the  assistance  of  those  little 
towns  which,  in  other  parts  of  the  United  States,  sprout  up  like 
mushrooms.  There  are  yet,  therefore,  to  be  seen  the  vestiges  of 
former  trading  stations  on  all  the  principal  rivers  ;  and  the  trav- 
eller is  not  unfrequently  surprised,  when,  having  consulted  his 
map,  and  been  informed  of  some  village  with  a  goodly  name,  he 
learns  that  he  has  unwarily  passed  over  the  spot  without  being 
conscious  of  any  thing  but  a  ruinous  tenement  standing  on  the 
bank  of  a  river,  embowered  in  deep  and  solitary  shade. 

The  Landing,  which  we  had  now  reached,  had  originally  been 
used  for  a  foreign  trade,  in  which  vessels  of  a  large  class,  a  long 
time  ago,  were  accustomed  to  receive  freights  of  tobacco,  and  de- 
posit the  commodities  required  by  the  country,  in  return.  It  is 
now,  however,  nothing  more  than  the  place  of  resort  for  a  few 
river  craft,  used  in  carrying  the  country  produce  to  market. 
There  were  two  or  three  dilapidated  buildings  in  view,  and,  among 
these,  one  of  larger  dimensions  than  the  rest,  a  brick  house,  with 


THE     NATIONAL     ANNIVERSARY.  159 

\i  part  of  the  roof  entirely  gone,  A  rank  crop  of  Jamestown  weed 
grew  lip  within,  so  as  to  be  seen  through  the  windows  of  the  first 
story.  Indian  corn  was  planted  on  the  adjacent  ground  up  to 
tlie  walls,  and  extended  partly  under  the  shelter  of  a  few  strag- 
gling old  apple-trees,  that  seemed  to  stand  as  living  mementoes 
■f  an  early  family  that  had  long  since  been  swept  from  beneath 
their  shade.  An  air  of  additional  desolation  was  given  to  this 
ruin  by  an  extensive  swamp  that  reached  almost  up  to  the  rear 
of  the  building,  and  over  which  the  river  spread  its  oozy  tide, 
amongst  a  thick  coat  of  bulrushes.  This  tenement,  tradition  says, 
was  once  the  mansion  of  an  emif>;rant  merchant  from  Glassrow, 
who  here  ruminated  in  quiet  over  his  small  gains,  and  waited  with 
a  disciplined  patience  for  the  good  ship  which  once  a  year  hove 
in  sight  above  the  headland  that  bounded  his  seaward  view.  I 
ca'^.  imagine  now,  how  that  harbinger  of  good  tidings  greeted  his 
eye  in  the  gloom  of  the  great  forest;  and  with  what  stir  and 
magnified  importance  the  fitting  arrangements  were  made  for  her 
reception  !  How  like  a  winged  deity  she  came  fluttering  into  this 
little  road,  with  all  her  pomp  of  apparel — with  foam  upon  her 
breast,  and  shouts  upon  her  deck — gliding  in  upright  stateliness 
to  her  anchorage,  as  she  gathered  up  her  sails  in  the  presence  of 
the  wondering  eagle  and  frightened  heron  ! 

What  was  once  the  warehouse,  but  now  used  for  a  ferry-house, 
stood  with  its  gable  end  at  the  extremity  of  a  mouldering  wharf 
of  logs.  In  this  end  there  was  a  door  studded  with  nails,  and 
another  above  it  opening  into  the  loft.  The  ridge  of  the  roof 
projected  over  these  doors  and  terminated  in  a  beam,  where  were 
yet  to  be  seen  the  remains  of  a  block  and  tackle.  On  the  land 
side  the  building  was  enlarged  by  sheds,  to  which  was  appended 
a  rude  porch.  A  sun-dried  post  supported  what  was  once  a  sign, 
whereon  a  few  hieroglyphics  denoted  that  this  was  a  place  of  en- 
tertainment, notwithstanding  its  paper-patched  windows»and  scan- 
ty means  of  accommodation. 


IGO  THE     NATIONAL     AN  N  :  >   :.  R  S  A  R  Y. 

Some  thirty  or  forty  persons  were  collected  at  the  Landing. 
The  porch  of  the  shabby  little  hostelry  was  filled  by  a  crowd  of 
rough-looking  rustics,  who  were  laughing  boisterously,  drinking, 
and  making  ribald  jokes.  A  violin  and  fife  were  heard,  from 
within  the  building,  to  a  quick  measure,  which  was  accompanied 
with  the  heavy  tramp  of  feet  from  a  party  of  dancers.  A  group 
of  negroes,  outside  of  the  house,  were  enjoying  themselves  in  the 
same  way,  shuflSing  through  the  odd  contortions  of  a  jig,  with  two 
sticks  lying  crosswise  upon  the  ground,  over  which  they  danced, 
alternately  slapping  their  thighs  and  throwing  up  their  elbows  to 
the  time  of  the  music,  and  making  strange  grimaces.  A  few  tall, 
swaggering  figures,  tricked  out  in  yellow  hunting-shirts  trimmed 
with  green  fringe,  and  their  hats,  some  white  aAd  some  black, 
garnished  with  a  band  of  red  cloth  and  ragged  plumes  of  the 
same  color,  that  seemed  to  have  been  faded  by  frequent  rains, 
stood  about  in  little  knots,  where  they  talked  loudly  and  swore 
hard  oaths.  Amongst  these  were  mingled  a  motley  collection  of 
lank  and  sallow  watermen,  boys,  negroes,  and  females  bedizened 
in  all  the  wonders  of  country  millinery.  At  the  fences  and  about 
the  trees,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  house,  was  to  be  seen  the  counter- 
part of  these  groups,  in  the  various  assemblage  of  horses  of  every 
color,  shape  and  degree,  stamping,  neighing  and  sleeping  until 
their  services  should  be  required  by  their  maudlin  masters.  Oc- 
casionally, during  our  stay,  some  of  these  nags  were  brought  for- 
ward for  a  race,  which  was  conducted  with  increased  uproar  and 
tumult. 

Contrasted  with  this  rude  and  busy  scene  was  the  voluptuous 
landscape  around  us.  It  was  a  picture  of  that  striking  repose, 
which  is  peculiar  to  the  tide-water  views  ;  soft,  indolent  and  clear, 
as  if  nature  had  retreated  into  this  drowsy  nook,  and  fallen  asleep 
over  her  own  image,  as  it  was  reflected  from  this  beautiful  mirror. 
The  river  was  upwards  of  a  mile  in  width,  and  upon  its  bosom  i 


THE  NATIONAL  ANNIVERSARY.  161 

were  seen,  for  many  a  rood  below,  those  alternate  streaks  of  light 
and  shade  that  are  said  to  poinfrout  the  channel,  where  its  smooth 
surface  was  only  ruffled  by  the  frequent  but  lonely  leap  of  some 
small  jfish  above  the  water.  A  few  shallops  were  hauled  up  on 
the  beach,  where  some  fishing-nets  were  stretched  upon  stakes,  or 
spread  upon  the  fences  on  the  bank.  At  the  distance  of  two  or 
'  three  hundred  yards  from  the  shore  there  was  a  slim  pole  planted 
in  the  river,  probably  to  mark  a  fishing-ground,  and  upon  the  very 

j  top  of  this  was  perched,  with  a  whimsical  air  of  unsociableness,  a 

I 

I  solitary  swallow,  apparently  ruminating  on  the  beauteous  waste 
of  waters  below  him ;  whilst  above  this  glittering  expanse,  some 
night-hawks  skimmed,  soared  and  darted  in  pursuit  of  the  hordes 
of  insects  that  bickered  through  the  atmosphere. 

The  sun  was  within  half  an  hour  of  his  journey's  end — and, 
I  nearer  to  theirs,  were  two  negroes,  who  were  rapidly  approaching 
'  the  shore  with  a  boat  load  of  crabs  and  cucumbers,  the  regular 
j  stroke  of  their  oars  falling  on  the  ear  as  if  measuring  the  stillness 
I  of  the  evening.  Far  below,  and  seemingly  suspended  in  air 
amongst  the  brilliant  reflections  of  the  heavens,  lay  a  small 
schooner  at  anchor,  fixed  as  by  a  spell,  and,  nevertheless,  com- 
municating a  sense  of  animation  to  this  tranquil  world  by  its  as- 
sociation with  the  beings  that  trod  its  noiseless  deck. 

We  had  wandered,  after  dismounting  from  our  horses,  aL 
round  the  purlieus  of  the  crowd.  Rip  had  recognized  some  fa- 
miliar features  amongst  the  country  volunteers,  and  had  already 
I  found  out  the  drummer,  who  had  hung  his  martial  instrument 
i  around  his  shoulders ;  and  the  delighted  boy  was  beating  away 
I  at  it  with  all  his  might.  Carey  had  collected  about  him  a  set  of 
his  old  cronies,  to  whom  he  was  delivering  a  kind  of  solemn  ha- 
j  rangue,  of  which  we  could  only  observe  the  energy  of  his  gesticu- 
I  lations.  The  ferry-boat  lay  attached  to  the  wharf,  and  on  the 
j  stern-benches  were  seated  three  or  four  graver  looking  men  in 


162  THE     NATIONAL     ANNIVERSARY. 

coarse  attire,  who  were  deeply 'discussing  questions  that  occasion* 
ally  brought  them  into  a  high  tone  of  voice,  and,  now  and  then, 
into  a  burst  of  loud  laughter.  Ned  had  led  me  up  to  this  group, 
and,  in  the  careless  indolence  of  the  moment,  we  had  thrown  our- 
selves out  at  full  length  across  the  seats  ;  Ned  with  his  legs 
dangling  over  the  gunwale,  with  "Wilful  lying  close  by;  and  repos- 
ing his  head  upon  his  lap. 

The  principal  personage  in  this  collection  was  Sandy  Walker, 
a  long,  sun-burnt  waterman,  who  was  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel, 
and  evidently  a  man  of  mark  amongst  his  associates.  One  of  the 
others  was  a  greasy  gentleman  in  a  blue  coat,  out  at  elbows,  with 
a  nose  lustrous  with  living  fire.  These  two  were  the  principal 
speakers,  and  they  were  debating  an  intricate  point  of  constitu- 1 
tional  law,  with  more  vehemence  than  perspicacity.  At  length, 
an  appeal  was  made  to  Ned,  by  Sandy,  who  was  infinitely  the 
most  authoritative  in  his  manner  of  the  whole  group. 

"  Can't  Congress,"  said  Sandy,  "supposing  they  were  to  pass 
a  law  to  that  efi'ect,  come  and  take  a  road  of  theirn  any  where 
they  have  a  mind  to,  through  an^t man's  land?  I  put  it  to  Mr. 
Ned  Hazard." 

"  Not  by  the  Constitution,"   said  the  gentleman  in  the  greasyj 
coat,  with  marked  emphasis. 

"  Well,"  said  Ned,  '•'  we'll  hear  you,  Sandy." 

Sandy  rose  up,  and  lifting  his  hand  above  his  head,  as  he  be- 
gan,— 

"  I  say  it  stands  to  reason  — " 

'•  It  stands  to  no  such  thing  !"  rejoined  the  other,  interruptino 
him,  "if  it's  against  the  Constitution, — which  I  say  it  is  un- 
doubtedly,— to  come  and  take  a  man's  land  without  saying,  by 
your  leave  ;  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  Mr.  Ned  Hazard 
it's  running  against  a  snag." 

"  Silence,"    said  Ned,  "  Mr.  Walker  lias  the  plank ;  wo  cm 
only  hear  one  at  a  time  !" 


THE     N  A  T  I O  :;  A  L     A  N  N  I V  E  K  S  A  R  V  .  1  63 

'•  Why,  sir,"  continued  Sandy,  argumentatively,  and  looking 
steadfastly  at  his  opponent,  with  one  eye  closed,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  bringing  his  right  hand  into  the  palm  of  his  left ;  "  they 
can  just  cut  off  a  corner,  if  they  want  it,  or  go  through  the  middle, 
leaving  one  half  here,  and  t'other  there,  and  make  you  fence  it 
clean  through  into  the  bargain  ;  or,"  added  Sandy,  giving  more 
breadth  to  his  doctrine,  '•  go  through  your  house,  sir." 

"  Devil  a  house  have  I,  Sandy  !"  said  the  other. 

"  Or  your  barn,  sir." 

"  Nor  barn  nother." 

"  Sweeping  your  bed  right  from  under  you,  if  Congress  says 
so.  Arn't  there  the  canal  to  go  across  the  Allegheny  mountain? 
"What  does  Congress  care  about  your  state  rights,  so  as  they  have 
got  the  money?" 

"  Canals,  I  grant  you,"  said  his  antagonist ;  "  but  there's  a 
diiFerence  between  land  and  water,"  evidently  posed  by  Sandy's 
dogmatic  manner,  as  well  as  somewhat  awed  by  the  relation  of 
landlord,  in  which  Sandy  stood,  and  whom,  therefore,  he  would 
not  rashly  contradict.  '•  But.'i  said  he,  in  a  more  softened  tone, 
and  with  an  affected  spice  of  courtesy  in  his  accost,  "  Mr.  Walker, 
I'd  be  glad  to  know  if  we  couldn't  nullify." 

'•  Nullify  !"  exclaimed  Sandy,  "  nullify  what  ?"  said  he,  with 
particular  emphasis  on  the  last  word.  '-  Do  you  know  what  old 
Hickory  said  down  there  in  the  Creek  nation,  in  the  war,  when 
the  Indians  pretended  they  were  going  to  have  a  ball  play  ?" 

••  No." 

•• '  If  you  don't  go  and  wash  all  that  there  paint  from  your 
faces,  I'll  give  you  the  shockingest  ball  play  you  ever  had  in  all 
your  lives.' " 

"  You  don't  tell  me  so !"  exclaimed  the  red-nosed  gentleman 
with  animation,  and  bursting  out  into  a  tremendous  laugh. 

"  Didn't  he  say  so,  Ned  Hazard  ?  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr. 
Ned  Hazard?"  eiaculated  Sandv.  and  turninsr  to  Ned. 


164  THE    NATIONAL    ANNIVERSARY. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  so,"  said  Ned,  "  though  I  don't  believe 
he  used  that  exact  expression." 

"  It  was  something  like  it,"  said  Sandy  :  '•  well,  that's  the  sort 
of  nullification  you'd  get." 

"  Things  are  getting  worse  and  worse,"  replied  the  other.  "  I 
can  see  how  it's  going  !  Here,  the  first  thing  General  Jackson  did 
when  he  came  in,  he  wanted  to  have  the  President  elected  for  six 
years ;  and,  by  and  by,  they  will  want  him  for  ten  !  and  now  they 
want  to  cut  up  our  orchards  and  meadows,  whether  or  no ;  that's 
just  the  way  Bonaparte  went  on.  What's  the  use  of  states  if 
they  are  all  to  be  cut  up  with  canals  and  railroads  and  tariff's  1 
No,  no,  gentlemen !  you  may  depend.  Old  Virginny's  not  going 
to  let  Congress  carry  on  in  her  day !" 

"  How  can  they  help  it  ?"  asked  Sandy. 

"  We  hav'nt  font  and  bled,"  rejoined  the  other,  taking  out  of 
his  pocket  a  large  piece  of  tobacco,  and  cutting  off"  a  quid,  as  he 
spoke  in  a  somewhat  subdued  tone,  "  we  hav'nt  fout  and  bled  for 
our  liberties  to  have  our  posterity  and  their  land  circumcised  af 
ter  this  rate,  to  suit  the  figaries  of  Congress.  So  let  them  try  it 
when  they  will !" 

"  Mr.  Ned  Hazard,  what  do  you  call  state  rights  ?"  demanded 
Sandy. 

"  It's  a  sort  of  a  law,"  said  the  other  speaker,  taking  the  an- 
swer to  himself,  "  against  cotton  and  wool." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  cried  Sandy, "  and,  in  my  thinking,  it's  a  very 
foolish  sort  of  a  business. " 

"  There's  where  you  and  me  differs,"  responded  the  other. 

"  Well,"  said  Ned,  "  it's  a  troublesome  question.  Suppose  wo 
wait  until  wo  hear  what  Old  Virginia  says  about  it  herself?  And 
as  for  us,  Sandy,  it  is  getting  late,  and  we  must  go." 

These  words  concluded  the  colloquy  ;  and,  soon  after,  having 
summoned  our  cavalcade,  we  set  out  on  our  return  to  Swallow 
^'  "n.  whore  we  arrived  soinf»  timp  o^*^'^^  "ifr^if-fnll. 


THE  NATIONAL  ANNIVERSARY.  165 

Ned  detailed  the  dialogue  I  have  just  described  to  Frank 
Meriwether,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  and,  from  what  Frank 
let  fall, — for  he  grew  grave  on  the  subject, — I  have  reason  to 
think  that  he  has  some  fearful  misgivings  of  the  ambitious  de- 
signs of  the  general  government.  He  is  decidedly  of  the  state 
rights  party. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE     COUNTY      COURT. 


On  Monday  morning  Meriwether  announced  to  us  that  the  Coun- 
ty Court  was  to  commence  its  session,  and,  consequently,  that  he 
was  obliged  to  repair  to  the  seat  of  justice. 

I  have  before  intimated  that  my  kinsman  is  one  of  the  quo- 
rum, and  has  always  been  famous  for  his  punctuality  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  judicial  functions.  It  was,  moreover,  necessary  for 
him  to  be  there  to-day,  because  his  business  with  Philly  Wart,  in 
regard  to  the  arbitration,  enjoined  it  upon  him  to  meet  that  le- 
gal luminary  without  delay. 

He  insinuated  a  wish  that  Ned  and  myself  should  accompany 
him,  I  think  Frank  is  a  little  vain  of  his  appearance  on  the 
bench.     We  readily  assented  to  his  proposal. 

Meriwether  never  moves  on  these  state  occasions  without  old 
Carey,  who  has  a  suit  of  livery  that  is  preserved  almost  exclu- 
sively for  this  service.  Accordingly,  the  old  man  this  morning 
was  decorated  with  all  his  honors,  of  which  the  principal  eon 
sisted  in  a  thick  drab  coat,  edged  with  green ;  and,  as  the  dav 
was  very  hot,  Carey  suffered  as  much  under  his  covering  as  an 
ancient  knight  of  the  Crusades,  in  his  linked  mail,  on  the  sandy 
plains  of  Syria. 

His  master,  too,  hud  defied  the  light  and  careless  habiliments 


i 


THE     COUNTY     COURT.  1G7 

iu  which  he  accommodated  himself,  usually,  to  the  fervors  of  the 
season,  and  was  now  pranked  out  in  that  reverential  furniture  of 
broadcloth  which  he  conceived  befitted  the  solemn  import  of  the 
duties  he  was  about  to  discharge. 

He  rides  a  beautiful  full-blooded  sorrel ;  and  his  pride  in  all 
matters  that  belong  to  his  equitation  is  particularly  conspicuous 

'  in  the  fresh  and  comfortable  character  of  his  housings  and  horse 
furniture.     He  has  a  large  new  saddle,  luxuriously  stuffed,  and 

I  covered  with  a  richly-worked  coat  of  yellow  buckskin.     The  stir- 

I  rups  hang  inordinately  low,  so  that  it  is  as  much  as  he  can  do  to 
't  the  point  of  his  boot  into  them.     But  he  sits  with  a  lordly 

I  erectness  upon  his  seat,  and  manages  his  horse  with  a  bold  and 
"" Lxterous  hand.  On  horseback  he  is  a  perfect  personation  of 
an  opulent,  unquestioned  squire, — the  very  guardian  genius  of 

I  the  soil  and  its  prerogatives — fearless,  graceful,  and  masterly,  his 

'  fine  athletic  figure  appearing  here  to  its  greatest  advantage. 

j  Ned  and  myself  formed  a  part  of  his  retinue,  like  a  pair  of 
aids  somewhat  behind  the  commander-in-chief,  insensibly  accom- 
modating our  position  to  the  respect  inspired  by  his  bearing  and 
rank.  Old  Carey,  in  his  proper  place,  brought  up  the  rear.  Our 
journey  to  the  court-house  was  about  twelve  miles,  and  as  we  oc- 
casionally brought  our  horses  to  a  gallop,  we  arrived  there  at  an 
early  hour. 

The  sitting  of  this  court  is  an  occasion  of  great  stir.  The 
roads  leading  to  the  little  county  capital  were  enlivened  by  fre- 
quent troops  of  the  neighboring  inhabitants,  that  rode  in  squad- 

j  rons,  from  all  directions.  Jurors,  magistrates,  witnesses,  attorneys 
of  the  circuit,  and  all  the  throng  of  a  country  side  interested  in 
this  piepowder  justice,  were  rapidly  converging  to  the  centre  of 
business. 

Upon  our  arrival,  a  considerable  part  of  the  population  had 
already  assembled,  and  were  scattered  about  the  principal  places 


168  THE     COUNTY     COURT. 

of  resort,  in  decent  and  orderly  groups,  in  wliicli  all  seemed  in- 
tent •upon  the  quiet  and  respectful  discharge  of  their  several  er- 
rands.   • 

The  court-house  is  a  low,  square,  brick  building,  entirely  un- 
ornamented,  occupying  the  middle  of  a  large  area.  It  has  an 
official  appearance  given  to  it  by  a  huge  door  of  a  dingy  exterior, 
and  ample  windows  covered  with  dust  and  cobwebs.  An  hum- 
ble and  modest  little  building,  of  the  same  material,  stands  on 
one  corner  of  the  area,  and  by  the  well-worn  path  leading  hence 
to  the  temple  of  Themis,  it  may  be  seen  that  this  is  the  only  de- 
pository of  the  county  records.  At  a  distance  farther  off,  a 
somewhat  larger  edifice  claims  a  public  character,  which  is  de- 
noted by  one  or  two  of  the  windows  being  grated.  A  few  small 
forest  trees  have  been  set  in  the  soil,  over  this  space,  which,  by 
their  feeble  growth  and  shelterless  condition,  as  well  as  by  the 
formal  and  graceless  precision  with  which  they  have  been  distri- 
buted, show  that  the  public  functionaries  have  at  times  had  one 
or  two  abortive  inspirations  of  a  spirit  of  improvement,  and  a 
transient  passion  for  beauty. 

In  front  of  the  court-house  there  is  a  decayed  and  disjointed 
fixture,  whose  uses  seem  now  to  have  gone  by.  It  is  a  pillory,- 1 
with  the  stocks  below  it,  and  was  occupied  at  the  moment  of  our  visit 
as  a  place  of  meeting  for  a  few  idle  negroes,  who  were  seated  on 
the  frame  at  a  game  of  pushpin.  Immediately  in  this  neighbor- 
hood the  horses  of  the  crowd  whose  occasions  brought  them  to 
tlie  scene,  were  fastened  to  racks  erected  for  that  purpose ;  and  the 
adjacent  fence-corners  became  gradually  appropriated  in  the  same 
way. 

Half  a  dozen  frame  dwellings,  partially  obscured  by  trees  and 
generally  of  a  neat  exterior,  were  scattered  over  the  landscape, 
and  made  up  the  village — if  so  sparse  an  assemblage  be  entitled 
to  that  name.     There  are  two  places  of  entertainment.    The  first. 


M 


THE     COUNTY     COURT.  169 

a  little  shrunken,  single-storied  edifice,  concealed  behind  a  rou^-h, 
whitewashed  piazza.  The  second  is  an  old  wooden  building  of 
some  magnitude,  and,  from  the  profusion  with  which  its  doors 
and  windows  have  been  supplied  with  architectural  embellish- 
ments, must  formerly  have  been  a  private  residence  of  note. 

Our  cavalcade  stopped  at  the  latter  of  these  rival  establish- 
ments ;  and  we  dismounted  under  a  broad  flaunting  sign,  which 
screeched  lazily  upon  its  hinges  in  the  breeze,  and  seemed  to  give 
.(  responsive  note  to  a  party  of  geese,  that  were  greeting  every 
fresh  arrival  with  a  vociferous,  periodical  cackle. 

There  were  several  respectable-looking  gentlemen  collected 
about  the  door ;  and  Meriwether  was  met  with  many  kind  and 
hearty  expressions.  We  were  shown  into  a  room  which,  from  its 
air  of  neatness,  was  evidently  kept  as  an  apartment  of  more  wor- 
ship than  that  in  which  the  larger  portion  of  the  visitors  of  the 
hotel  were  assembled.  This  room  was  garnished  with  carvings 
and  mouldings  of  an  ancient  date.  The  floor  had  suffered  from 
the  ravages  of  time,  and  had  a  slope  towards  an  ample  hearth, 
whose  unsightly  aperture  was  embowered  by  a  tasteful  screen  of 
the  tops  of  asparagus  plants.  Some  pieces  of  mahogany  furniture, 
black  with  age  and  glistening  like  ebony,  stood  against  the  wall ; 
and  above  them  hung  divers  besmirched  pictures  representing 
game-cocks  in  pugnacious  attitudes,  trimjy  dipt  of  their  feathers, 
the  Godolphin  Arabian,  Flying  Childers,  and  some  other  victors 
of  the  turf,  all  in  black  frames  ;  and  which,  from  the  hue  that 
time  had  flung  over  the  copperplate,  seemed  to  be  gleaming  through 
an  atmosphere  obfuscated  with  smoke. 

The  hour  soon  came  round  for  opening  the  court.  This  was 
announced  by  a  proclamation,  made  in  a  shrill,  attenuated  voice, 
from  the  court-house  door ;  and  was  followed  by  an  immediate 
movement,  from  all  directions,  to  that  quarter.  The  little  hall  in 
which  justice  was  administered  was  crowded  almost  to  overflowing. 


170  THE     COUNTY     COURT. 

A  semicircular  gallery,  raised  five  or  six  feet  above  tlie  floor,  at 
the  further  end  of  the  hall,  was  already  occupied  with  a  bevy  of 
justices — nearly  a  dozen,  perhaps — some  of  whom  had  flung  their 
feet  upon  the  rail  before  them,  and  were  lolling  back  upon  their 
seats,  ready  to  proceed  to  their  judicial  employments.  Our  friend 
Meriwether  occupied  his  place  with  a  countenance  of  becoming 
importance.  Indeed,  the  whole  bench  presented  a  fine  picture  of 
solid  faces  and  figures,  that  might  be  said  to  be  a  healthy  and 
sturdy  specimen  of  this  pillar  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  state ; — 
and  was  well  calculated  to  inspire  a  wholesome  respect  for  that 
inferior  and  useful  magistracy  which  has  always  been  so  much  a 
favorite  of  the  people  of  Virginia. 

Immediately  under  the  gallery  of  the  justices,  sat  the  clerk 
of  the  court ;  and,  on  either  side  of  his  desk,  within  the  area  of 
the  semicircle,  were  benches  designed  for  the  juries.  Fronting 
this  array  of  the  court  and  jury,  was  a  long,  narrow  platform, 
guarded  all  round  with  railing,  and  elevated  a  few  feet  above  the 
floor,  within  whose  constricted  confines  were  disposed  some  five  or 
six  members  of  the  bar,  most  incommodiously  perched  upon  seats 
of  a  height  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  human  figure  ;  and,  before 
these,  a  narrow  desk  extended  the  whole  distance,  so  as  to  give  to 
the  place  of  their  accommodation  somewhat  of  the  dimensions  of 
a  pew. 

These  courts  hold  their  sessions  monthly,  and  their  jurisdic- 
tion reaches  almost  all  the  ordinary  legal  requirements  of  the 
county ;  but,  as  the  territorial  limit  over  which  they  preside  is 
generally  small,  it  requires  but  a  few  days  to  dispatch  the  busi- 
ness of  each  term. 

The  first  matter  that  occupied  the  attention  of  the  court  was 
the  marshalling  of  the  grand-jury,  to  whom  the  usual  charge  was 
delivered.  This  ofiice  was  assigned  by  the  court  to  one  of  the 
members  of  the  bar,  a  young  practitioner,  who  did  not  fiiil  to  em- 


TIIK     COUNTY     COURT.  171 

bellish  the  summary  of  duties,  which  he  unfolded  to  their  view, 
with  a  plentiful  garniture  of  rhetoric.  Notwithstanding  the  por- 
tentous exaggeration  of  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and  the 
multitudinous  grave  topics  which  were  urged  upon  the  grand  in- 
(|uest,  it  seems  that  this  quintessence  of  the  freehold  dignity  was 
sadly  puzzled  to  find  employment  in  any  degree  commensurate 
with  the  cxaltedness  of  its  function.  It  is  said  that  the  jurors 
revolved  in  their  minds  the  whole  list  of  national  grievances.  One 
party  suggested  the  idea  of  presenting  the  established  mode  of 
electing  the  President  of  the  United  States  as  a  grievance  to  the 
good  people  of  the  county;  another  thought  of  a  formal  denun- 
ciation of  the  Tariff;  a  few  advocated  an  assault  upon  the  Su- 
preme Court ;  but  all  were  happily  brought  into  a  harmonious 
concurrence  in  the  design  of  presenting  a  mad-cap  ragamuffin,  by 
the  name  of  Jemmy  Smith,  for  disturbing  the  peace  of  a  camp- 
meeting  by  drinking  whiskey  and  breeding  a  riot  within  the  con- 
fines of  the  conventicle.  Accordingly,  after  an  hour's  delibera- 
tion upon  these  various  suggestions,  they  returned  to  the  court- 
room with  a  solitary  bill,  made  out  in  due  form  against  Jemmy ; 
and,  this  matter  constitutino;  the  sum  total  of  their  business  for 
the  term,  they  were  thereupon  discharged,  with  the  thanks  of  the 
court  for  the  able  and  vigilant  administration  of  their  inquisito- 
rial duties. 

Jemmy  Smith  had  anticipated  this  act  of  authority ;  and  was 
now  in  court,  ready  to  stand  his  trial.  He  had  already  selected 
his  counsel — a  flowery  and  energetic  advocate,  whose  strength  lay, 
according  to  the  popular  opinion,  in  his  skill  in  managing  a  jury. 
The  name  of  this  defender  of  Jemmy's  fame  was  Taliaferro,  (pro- 
nounced ToUiver.)  or,  as  it  was  called  for  shortness,  Toll  Hedges^ 
Esq.,  a  gentleman  whose  pantaloons  were  too  short  for  him,  and 
whose  bare  legs  were,  consequently,  visible  above  his  stockings. 
Toll's  figure,  however,  was  adorned  with  a  bran-new  blue  coat,  of 


172  '  THE     COUNTY     COURT-. 

the  most  conceited  fashion,  which,  nevertheless,  gave  some  indi- 
cations of  having  been  recently  slept  in,  as  it  was  plentifully  sup- 
plied with  down  from  a  feather  bed.  He  was  conspicuous,  also, 
for  an  old  straw  hat,  that  had  been  fretted  at  the  rim  by  a  care- 
less habit  in  handling  it.  This  learned  counsel  had  apparently 
been  keeping  his  vigils  too  strictly  the  night  before,  for  his  eyes 
were  red,  and  his  face  inflamed.  His  frame  had  all  the  morning 
languor  of  a  sedulous  night-watcher;  and.  altogether,  Toll  did  not 
appear  to  be  in  the  best  condition  to  try  his  case.  However,  he 
had  now  taken  his  seat  at  the  bar  ;  and  close  beside  him  sat  his 
client.  Jemmy  Smith,  an  indescribably  swaggering,  saucy  blade, 
who  had  the  irreverence  to  come  into  court  without  coat  or  waist- 
coat, and  to  show  a  wild,  grinning,  disorderly  countenance  to  his 
peers. 

Whilst  the  gentleman  who  conducted  the  case  for  the  Com- 
monwealth was  giving  a  narrative  of  Jemmy's  delinquencies  to 
the  jury,  and  was  vituperating  that  worthy's  character  in  good  set 
terms,  Toll  was,  to  all  appearance,  asleep  upon  his  folded  arms,  ] 
resting  on  the  desk  before  him.  When  the  charge  was  fairly  ex- 
plained, one  witness  was  called  to  support  it.  This  individual 
was  pretty  much  such  a  looking  person  as  Jemmy  himself  He 
was  rather  down-faced  and  confused  in  his  demeanor  before  the 
court,  and  particularly  shabby  in  his  exterior ;  but  he  told  a  plain, 
straight-forward  story  enough,  in  the  main,  and  his  evidence  went 
the  full  length  of  all  the  traverser's  imputed  enormities.  The 
truth  was.  Jemmy  had  certainly  broke  into  the  camp  and  played 
some  strange  antics,  considering  the  sanctity  of  the  place.  But, 
during  all  this  time,  Taliaferro  Hedges,  Esq.,  maintained  his  recum- 
bent position,  except,  now  and  then,  when  Jemmy,  feeling  himself 
pinched  by  tlio  testimony,  reclined  his  head  to  whisper  in  his 
counsel's  ear,  wliich  act  roused  him  enough  to  bring  upon  Jemm' 
a  rebuke,  that  was  generally  conveyed  by  pushing  him  off,  and 


Tin:     COUNTY     COURT.  1 73 

injunction  to  be  quiet.  At  length,  the  whole  story  was  told,  and 
bad  enough  it  looked  for  Jemmy !  The  attorney  for  the  Common- 
wealth now  informed  Mr.  Hedges,  that  the  witness  was  at  his  dis- 
posal. At  this,  Toll  completely  roused  himself,  and  sitting  bolt 
upright,  directed  a  sharp  and  peremptory  catechism  to  the  wit- 
ness, in  which  he  required  him  to  repeat  the  particulars  he  had 
before  detailed.  There  was  something  bullying  in  the  manner  of 
the  counsel  that  quite  intimidated  the  witness,  and  the  poor  fellow 
made  some  sad  equivocations.  At  last,  said  Toll,  after  admon- 
ishing the  witness,  in  a  very  formal  manner,  that  he  was  upon  his 
oath,  and  ex2)laimng  to  him  the  solemnity  of  his  obligation  to 
speak  the  truth,  '•  I  will  ask  you  one  question  :  answer  it  catego- 
rically, and  without  evasion." 

"•When  you  and  Smith  went  down  to  camp-meeting,  hadn't 
Smith  a  bottle  of  whiskey  in  the  bosom  of  his  shirt  1  Tell  the 
truth." 

The  attorney  for  the  Commonwealth  objected  to  the  question ; 
but  the  court  overruled  the  objection. 

"  Why,  yes,  he  had,"  replied  the  witness. 

••  Didn't  Jemmy  buy  that  bottle  himself,  and  pay  for  it  out  of 
his  own  pocket  ?     On  the  oath  you  have  taken." 

'•  Why,  yes,  he  did." 

"  Well,  now  tell  us.  Didn't  you  drink  some  of  that  whiskey 
yourself,  along  the  road?" 

"  Why,  yes,  I  did.     I  tell  the  truth,  gentlemen." 

"  More  than  once  ?" 

'•  Yes,  several  times." 

"  After  you  got  down  to  camp  V 

"  Oh.  yes !  certainly.     I  don't  deny  it." 

"  Did  you  and  Jemmy  drink  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  bottle, 
or  out  of  a  cup  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  bottle.  You  will  not 
catch  me  in  any  lies,  lawyer  Hedges." 


174  THE     COUNTY     COURT. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Hedges,"  interrupted  the  attorney  for  the  Com- 
monwealth, "  I  don't  see  what  this  has  to  do  with  the  question.  I 
must  apply  to  the  court." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Toll,  "  I  see  how  it  is  !  Gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  I  don't  insist  on  the  question,  if  the  gentleman  does  not 
like  to  have  it  answered.  But  you  can't  help  seeing  the  true 
state  of  the  case.  Here's  this  fellow,  who  has  been  all  along 
drinking  out  of  the  very  same  "bottle  with  Jemmy  Smith, — and 
Jemmy's  own  whiskey  too,— and  now  he  comes  out  state's  evi- 
dence. What  credit  can  you  attach  to  a  cock-and-bull  story  told 
by  a  fellow  that  comes  to  swear  against  a  man  who  has  been  divi- 
ding his  liquor  with  him?  For  the  honor  of  the  Old  Dominion, 
gentlemen  !"  cried  Toll,  concluding  this  side-bar  appeal  to  the 
jury  with  an  indignant  gesticulation,  and  a  look  of  triumph  in  his 
face,  that  might  be  said  to  be  oratorically  comic. 

The  look  was  a  master-stroke.  It  took  complete  effect ;  and 
Jemmy  was  acquitted  in  spite  of  the  facts. 

As  the  crowd  broke  up,  Toll,  on  leaving  the  court-room,  walked 
up  to  the  witness,  and  slapping  him  on  the  back,  said,  "  Come,  let 
lis  go  take  something  to  drink."  And  off  the  two  went  together 
to  the  tavern. 

Hazard  remarked  to  Hedges  afterwards,  that '  it  was  a  little 
odd,  as  he  had  completely  triumphed  over  the  facts  of  his  case  by 
undermining  the  credit  of  the  witness,  he  should  be  on  such  good 
terms  with  this  person  as  to  bring  him  down  to  drink  with  him. 

"  Ah  !"  replied  Hedges,  "  if  the  jury  knew  that  man  as  well  as 
I  do,  they  would  have  believed  every  word  he  said.  For  there  is 
not  an  honester  fellow  in  the  county.  But  I  know  how  to  work 
these  juries." 


E^S^??^"*^^^^"'. 


t    »    e      e    » 


CHAPTER  XX. 


OPINIONS     AND     SENTIMENTS. 


The  court  resumed  its  session  after  dinner,  having  a  prospect  of 
concluding  its  business  before  noon  the  next  day ;  and  Meri- 
wether was  obliged  to  remain  for  the  night.  Neither  Ned  nor 
myself  regretted  the  pretext  this  furnished  us  for  the  same  delay. 

During  the  afternoon  many  of  the  older  inhabitants  had  taken 
to  horse :  and  the  crowd  of  the  court-room  was  sensibly  dimin- 
ished. Still  the  out-door  bustle  assumed  a  more  active  and 
noisy  character.  The  loiterers  about  the  verge  of  the  court  had 
less  business,  but  more  to  say.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  be  difficult 
to  keep  those  in  attendance  whose  presence  was  necessary  to  the 
affairs  of  justice  ;  for  the  crier  of  the  court  might  be  frequently 
heard  summoning  the  absentees,  as  they  were  wanted,  in  his  slen- 
der and  shrill  voice,  by  distinctly  repeating  thrice  the  name  of 
each,  from  the  court-house  door,  whert  he  stood  bareheaded,  and 
with  his  hand  shading  his  eyes. 

The  sun  began,  at  last,  to  throw  a  merciless  blaze  upon  the 
broken  window-panes  in  the  western  fronts  of  some  old  buildings, 
whose  raggedness  was  thus  rendered  painfully  public.  The  ducks 
and  geese  of  the  village  were  already  trooping  homeward,  from  a 
small  brook  hard  by,  in  their  sober  evening  march,  and  with  a 
sedate  under-gabble.  like  that  of  old  burghers  in  conversation. 


176  OPINIONS     AND     SENTIMENTS. 

The  departing  squadrons  of  horsemen  became  more  frequent; 
and  the  alacrity  with  which  these  retreating  bodies  sprang  for- 
ward from  their  starting  points,  showed  that  their  temporary  so- 
journ had  been  attended  with  an  increase  of  animal  spirits.  At 
this  hour  the  court  put  an  end  to  its  labors ;  and  the  throng  that 
had  been  occupied  there,  all  day,  were  now  gathering  about  the 
doors  of  the  two  taverns. 

Our  host  was  an  imperturbable,  pleasant-faced  old  fellow, 
with  a  remarkably  accommodating  temper,  which  exhibited  itself 
in  lavish  promises,  though  he  was  allowed  to  be  very  incommen- 
surate in  performance.  He  was  unwieldy  in  bulk,  and  pertina- 
cious in  the  enjoyment  of  his  ease ;  and,  to  save  the  trouble  of 
forming  opinions,  he  gave  an  invariable  answer  to  every  specula- 
tion that  was  addressed  to  him.  This  was  conveyed  in  the  words 
'•  quite  likely,"  no  matter  how  inconsistent  the  averments  to 
which  they  had  reference.  Ned  and  myself  had  put  him,  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon,  to  some  severe  trials,  but  without  being 
able  either  to  ruffle  his  temper  or  enlarge  his  vocabulary. 

The  large  room  of  the  inn  had  a  bar  petitioned  off  at  one  cor- 
ner ;  and  this  was  the  principal  centre  of  reinforcement  to  the  in- 
habitants of  these  precincts.  As  the  shades  of  evening  thickened, 
this  resort  became  more  crowded.  The  remnants,  or  more  pro- 
perly speaking,  the  sediment  of  the  population,  whose  occasions 
had  brought  them  to  the  court-house,  had  repaired  thither  to  en- 
joy the  compotations  and  arguments  that  are  apt  to  abound  in 
such  assemblages.  Some  were  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  accom- 
panying their  diatribes  with  violent  gestures ;  others  were 
strewed  around  the  room  wherever  seats  were  to  be  obtained. 
At  a  small  table,  lighted  by  a  single  candle  in  a  most  unsightly 
candlestick,  sat  a  gentleman  in  a  loose  calico  robe,  with  a  dirty 
shirt,  engaged  at  backgammon  with  a  robust,  well-knit  man,  who 
wore  his  hat  drawn  low  over  his  eyes ;  the  first  was  the  Galen  of 


or  IN  IONS     AND     SENTIMENTS,  177 

the  country  side,  and  the  other  a  deputy  sheriif.  Our  friend 
Toll  Hedges  was  a  conspicuous  personage  in  this  checkered  assem- 
bly. He  had  shaken  oflF  the  dulness  of  the  morning,  and  was 
now  playing  a  part  that  seemed  more  native  to  his  disposition, 
that  of  a  familiar,  confident,  loud-talking  interlocutor,  who  called 
every  man  by  his  christian  name,  swore  roundly  after  a  pedantic 
fashion,  had  some  knowledge  of  every  man's  business,  and  bore 
himself  with  the  peremptoriness  of  one  whose  character  partook 
in  equal  degrees  of  the  wag  and  the  brawler.  He  was  sarcastic, 
shrewd,  and  popular  ;  and  to  all  these,  it  may  be  added,  that  be- 
fore bedtime  he  was  in  no  small  degree  flustered.  In  this  crowd 
might  also  be  observed  one  or  two  other  members  of  the  bar,  of  a 
;raver  demeanor,  and  even  some  of  the  justices  holding  more 
edate  conversations,  apparently  on  matters  connected  wi^h  their 
>usiness.  In  one  corner  sat  a  quiet,  neighborly  shoemaker,  in  an 
irm  chair,  contentedly  taking  a  stiff  beverage  of  whiskey  and 
svater  about  once  in  fifteen  minutes,  and  saying  nothing  to  any 
lody. 

Our  host  himself  was  a  sober  man,  and  a  discreet !  He  stood 
,t  his  post  the  whole  evening,  with  a  wooden  pestle  in  his  hand 
—the  symbol  of  his  calling ;  one  while  laughing  with  a  civil  good 
lature  at  the  rough  jokes  that  were  aimed  at  himself,  and  at 
another  mixing  toddy  to  meet  the  numberless  demands  of  his 
phirsty  customers.  Amidst  this  edifying  display  of  toss-pot  elo- 
quence and  genial  uproar,  my  attention  was  particularly  attracted 
0  the  behavior  of  this  exemplary  publican.  Though  scant  in 
speech,  he  labored  like  a  man  who  had  the  good  of  his  family  af 
leart ;  and  bore  himself  through  the  tumultuary  scene  with  the' 
iddress  of  a  wily  statesman  who  is  anxious  to  win  the  applause 
)f  all  parties.  The  tide  was  in  his  favor,  and  his  aim  was  to  float 
jmoothly  upon  it.     In  times  of  great  excitement,  it  may  be  ob- 

Jerved  that  the  party  in  power  gain  many  advantages  by  a  show 

•  8* 


178  OriNIONS     AND     SENTIMENTS. 

of  moderation,  \yitli  regard  to  them  tlie  maxim  applies,  '•  where 
the  least  is  said  it  is  soonest  mended."  Now,  our  good  landlord 
stood  pretty  much  in  this  predicament ;  for  the  whole  assemblage 
had  fallen  into  an  inflammatory  discussion  of- some  ticklish  points 
of  politics,  in  which  he  might  have  lost  friends  by  an  inconsider- 
ate participation.  Whilst,  therefore,  the  tempest  raged  he  played 
the  part  of  moderator,  and  was  perpetually  crying  out — "  Now, 
gentlemen  ! — if  you  please, — remember  ; — we  are  all  friends  !" 
and  such  like  gentle  admonitions  ;  and  as  often  as  he  was  taken 
by  the  button  by  one  of  the  speakers,  and  pinned  up  against  the 
wall,  so  that  it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  escape  committing 
himself,  I  could  hear  his  old  equivocation — "quite  likely" — 
uttered  with  an  impregnable  composure  of  nerve.  In  fact,  a  so- 
ber observer  could  have  been  at  no  loss  to  perceive  that  the  cau- 
tious landlord  had  all  the  ambidexterity  of  a  practised  public 
servant. 

As  the  evening  waned  the  disputants  began  to  leave  the 
field ;  and  Hedges  being  thrown  by  chance  into  the  bar-room, 
alone  with  his  good-natured  host,  addressed  him  very  seriously 
upon  the  subject  of  the  countenance  he  had  given  to  certain  here- 
sies that  had  been  uttered  in  his  presence,  and,  seemingly,  with 
his  concurrence.  "  Lord  !  Mr.  Hedges,"  said  he,  in  a  quiet  tone, 
and  looking  round  to  see  who  was  within  hearing, — '•'  you  know 
my  ideas  long  ago  about  all  that  matter  ! — It  isn't  my  business 
to  break  with  customers,  or  to  be  setting  up  against  them.  What 
signifies  opinions  this  way  or  that !  But,"  he  continued,  erecting 
his  figure  to  its  full  height  and  putting  on  a  look  of  extraordinar 
determination,  "  sentiments  is  another  thing  !  Let  any  man  ask 
me  my  sentiments  ! — that's  all ; — Thar's  no  flinch  in  me,  3'ou  may 
depend  upon  it !" 

Having    learned    this   distinction   between    sentiments   and 
opinions,  I  retired  to  my  chamber. 


OPINIONS     AND     SENTIMENTS.  179 

The  next  morning,  after  a  short  delay  in  court,  Meriwether 
was  released  from  his  judicial  cares,  and  we  made  preparations 
for  our  return  to  Swallow  Barn.  Philly  Wart,  who  had  been  an 
active  and  conspicuous  personage  in  the  transactions  of  the  term, 
and  who  is  hereafter  to  make  some  figure  in  these  annals,  was  to 
accompany  us.  About  noon  we  were  all  mounted,  Philly  being 
perched  upon  a  taU.  raw-boned,  gray  steed,  that  seemed  to  have 
parted  with  his  flesh  in  the  severe  duties  of  the  circuit,  but  who 
was  distinguished  for  his  easy  and  regular  pace.  As  to  Philly 
himself,  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  give  him  a  chapter. 

By  the  usual  dinner  hour,  we  were  all  comfortably  seated  at 
Swallow  Barn. 


(JHAPTER  XXI. 


PHILrOT    WART. 


Without  much  reverence  for  the  profession  of  the  law  itself,  T 
have  a  great  regard  for  its  votaries,  and  especially  for  that  part, 
of  the  tribe  which  comprehends  the  old  and  thorough-paced 
stagers  of  the  bar.  The  feelings,  habits  and  associations  of  the 
bar  in  general,  have  a  happy  influence  upon  character.  It 
abounds  with  good  fellows :  and,  take  it  altogether,  there  may  be  , 
collected  from  it  a  greater  mass  of  shrewd,  observant,  droll,  play- 
ful and  generous  spirits,  than  from  any  other  equal  numbers  of  j^ 
society.  They  live  in  each  other's  presence,  like  a  set  of  players ; 
congregate  in  the  courts,  as  the  former  in  the  green-room ;  and 
break  their  unpremeditated  jests,  in  the  intervals  of  business, 
with  that  sort  of  undress  freedom  which  contrasts  amusingly  with 
the  solemn  and  even  tragic  seriousness  with  which  they  appear, 
in  turn,  upon  the  boards.  They,  have  one  face  for  the  public 
rife  with  the  gravity  of  the  profession,  and  another  for  them- 
selves, replete  with  mirth  and  enjoyment.  The  toil  and  fatigue  -j 
of  business  give  them  a  peculiar  relish  for  their  hours  of  relaxa- 
tion, and,  in  the  same  degree,  incapacitate  them  for  that  frugal 
attention  to  their  private  concerns  which  their  limited  means 
usually  require.  They  have,  in  consequence,  a  prevailing  air  of 
unthriftiness  in  personal  matters,  which^  however  it  may  operate 


PHI  LrOT     WART.  181 

to  the  prejudice  of  the  pocket  of  the  individual,  has  a  mellow  and 
kindly  effect  upon  his  disposition. 

In  an  old  member  of  the  profession, — one  who  has  grown 
gray  in  the  service, — there  is  a  rich  unction  of  originality,  which 
brings  him  out  from  the  ranks  of  his  fellow-men  in  strong  relief 
His  habitual  conversancy  with  the  world  in  its  strangest  varieties, 
:ind  with  the  secret  history  of  character,  gives  him  a  shrewd  esti- 
mate of  the  human  heart.  He  is  quiet,  and  unapt  to  be  struck 
with  wonder  at  any  of  the  actions  of  men.  There  is  a  deep  cur- 
rent of  observation  running  calmly  through  his  thoughts,  and  sel- 
dom gushing  out  in  words  :  the  confidence  which  has  been  placed 
in  him,  in  the  thousand  relations  of  his  profession,  renders  him 
constitutionally  cautious.  His  acquaintance  with  the  vicissitudes 
of  fortune,  as  they  have  been  exemplified  in  the  lives  of  individu- 
als, and  with  the  severe  afflictions  that  have  '•  tried  the  reins  "  of 
many,  known  only  to  himself,  makes  him  an  indulgent  and  chari- 
table apologist  of  the  aberrations  of  others.  He  has  an  impreg- 
nable good  humor  that  never  falls  below  the  level  of  thoughtful- 
ness  into  melancholy.  He  is  a  creature  of  habits ;  rising  early 
for  exercise  ;  generally  temperate  from  necessity,  and  studious 
against  his  will.  His  face  is  accustomed  to  take  the  ply  of  his 
pursuits  with  great  facility,  grave  and  even  severe  in  business, 
and  readily  rising  into  smiles  at  a  pleasant  conceit.  He  works 
hard  when  at  his  task  ;  and  goes  at  it  with  the  reluctance  of  an 
old  horse  in  a  bark-mill.  His  common-places  are  quaint  and  pro- 
fessional :  they  are  made  up  of  law  maxims,  and  first  occur  to 
him  in  Latin.  He  measures  all  the  sciences  out  of  his  proper 
line  of  study,  (and  with  these  he  is  but  scantily  acquainted.)  by 
the  rules  of  law.  He  thinks  a  steam  engine  should  be  worked 
with  due  diligence^  and  without  laches :  a  thing  little  likely  to 
happen,  he  considers  as  potentia  remotissima  ;  and  what  is  not 
yet  in  existence,  or  in  esse,  as  he  would  say,  is  i?i  mihibus      He 


182  PHILPOT     WART. 

apprehends  that  wit  best,  which  is  connected  with  the  affairs  of 
the  term  ;  is  particularly  curious  in  his  anecdotes  of  old  lawyers, 
and  inclined  to  be  talkative  concerning  the  amusing  passages  of 
his  own  professional  life.     He  is.  sometimes,  not  altogether  free 
of  outward  foppery ;  is  apt  to  be  an  especial  good  liver,  and  he 
keeps  the  best  company.     His  literature  is  not  much  diversified ;  I 
and  he  prefers  books  that  are  bound  in  plain  calf,  to  those  that ! 
are  much  lettered  or  gilded.     He  garners  up  his  papers  with  a| 
wonderful  appearance  of  care ;  ties  them  in  bundles  with  red ' 
tape  ;  and  usually  has  great  difficulty  to  find  them  when  he  wants 
them.     Too  much  particularity  has  perplexed  him ;  and  just  so 
it  is  with  his  cases :  they  are  well  assorted,  packed  and  laid  awaj 
in  his  mind,  but  are  not  easily  to  be  brought  forth  again  without 
labor.     This  makes  him  something  of  a  procrastinator,  and  rathei 
to  delight  in  new  business  than  finish  his  old.     He  is,  however 
much  beloved,  and  affectionately  considered  by  the  people. 

Philpot  Wart  belongs  to  the  class  whose   characteristics  3 
have  here  sketched.     He  is  a  practitioner  of  some  thirty  or  fortii 
years'  standing,  during  the  greater  part  of  which  time  he  has  re 
sided  in  this  district.     He  is  now  verging  upon  sixty  years  0 
age,  and  may  be  said  to  have  spent  the  larger  portion  of  his  lifi 
on  horseback.     His  figure  is  short  and  thick-set,  with  a  hard 
muscular  outline  ;  his  legs  slightly  bowed,  his  shoulders  broao 
and  his  hands  and  feet  uncommonly  large.     His  head  is  of  extrr 
ordinary  size,  inclining  to  be  cubical  in  shape,  and  clothed  v/ith 
shock  of  wiry,  dark  gray  hair.     A  brown  and  dry  complexion 
ayes  small,  keen,  and  undefined  in  color,  furnished  with  thic 
brows ;  a  large  mouth,  conspicuous  for  a  range  of  teeth  wor 
nearly  to  their  sockets  ;  and  ample  protruding  ears,  constitut; 
the  most  remarkable  points  in  his  appearance.     The  predomiuaui 
expression  of  his  features  is  a  sly,  quick  good  nature,  susceptibl , 
however,  of  great  severity. 


PHIL  POT     WART.  183 

His  dress  is  that  of  a  man  who  does  not  trouble  liimself  with 
the  change  of  fashions  ;  careless,  and,  to  a  certain  degree,  quaint. 
It  consists  of  a  plain,  dark  coat,  not  of  the  finest  cloth,  and  rather 
the  worse  for  wear :  dinsy  and  faded  nankeen  small  clothes : 
and  a  pair  of  half  boots,  such  as  were  worn  at  the  beginning  of 
this  centur3^  His  hat  is  old,  and  worn  until  the  rim  has  become 
too  pliable  to  keep  its  original  form  ;  and  his  cravat  is  sometimes, 
by  accident,  tied  in  such  a  manner,  as  not  to  include  one  side  of 
his  shirt  collar ; — this  departure  from  established  usage,  and 
others  like  it,  happen  from  Mr.  Wart's  never  using  a  looking- 
glass  when  he  makes  his  toilet. 

His  circuit  takes  in  four  or  five  adjoining  counties,  and,  as  he 
is  a  regular  attendant  upon  the  courts,  he  is  an  indefatigable  tra- 
veller. His  habit  of  being  so  much  upon  the  road,  causes  his 
clients  to  make  their  appointments  with  him  at  the  several  stages 
of  his  journeyings  ;  and  it  generally  happens  that  he  is  intercept- 
ed, when  he  stops,  by  some  one  waiting  to  see  him.  Being 
obliged  to  pass  a  great  deal  of  his  time  in  small  taverns,  he  has 
grown  to  be  contented  with  scant  accommodation,  and  never  com 
plains  of  his  fair.  But  he  is  extremely  particular  in  exacting  the 
utmost  attention  to  his  horse. 

He  has  an  insinuating  address  that  takes  wonderfully  with 
the  people  ;  and  especially  with  the  older  and  graver  sorts.  This 
has  brought  him  into  a  close  acquaintance  with  a  great  many  per- 
sons, and  has  rendered  Philly  Wart, — as  he  is  universally  called, 
— a  kind  of  cabinet-counsellor  and  private  adviser  with  most  of 
those  who  are  likely  to  be  perplexed  with  their  affairs.  He  has 
a  singularly  retentive  memory  as  to  facts,  dates,  and  names  ;  and 
c  by  his  intimate  knowledge  of  land  titles,  courses  and  distances, 
i  '  patents,  surveys  and  locations,  he  has  become  a  formidable  cham- 
pion in  all  ejectment  cases.  In  addition  to  this,  Philly  has  such 
a  brotherly  and  companionable  relation  to  the  greater  number  of 


184  PHILPOT     WART. 

the  freeholders  who  serve  upon  the  juries,  and  has  such  a  confi- 
ding, friendly  way  of  talking  to  them  when  he  tries  a  cause,  that 
it  is  generally  supposed  he  can  persuade  them  to  believe  any 
thing  he  chooses. 

His  acquirements  as  a  lawyer  are  held  in  high  respect  by  the 
bar,  although  it  is  reported  that  he  reads  but  little  law  of  later 
date  than  Coke  Littleton,  to  which  book  he  manifests  a  remarka- 
ble affection,  having  perused  it,  as  he  boasts,  some  eight  or  ten 
times ;  but  the  truth  is,  he  has  not  much  time  for  other  reading, 
being  very  much  engrossed  by  written  documents,  in  which  he  is 
painfully  studious.     He  takes  a  great  deal  of  authority  upon  him- 
self, nevertheless,  in  regard  to  the  Virginia  decisions,  inasmuch  " 
as  he  has  been  contemporary  with  most  of  the  cases,  and  heard' 
them,  generally,  from  the  courts   themselves.     Besides  this,  he  ijj 
practised  in  the  times  of  old  Chancellor  "Wythe,  and  Presidenti 
Pendleton,  and  must  necessarily  have  absorbed  a  great  deal  of 
that  spirit  of  law-learning  which  has  evaporated  in  the  hands  of 
the  reporters.     As  Philly  himself  says,  he  understands  the  cur- 
rents of  the  law.  and  knows  where  they  must  run  ;  and,  therefore, 
has  no  need  of  looking  into  the  cases. 

Philly  has  an  excellent  knack  in  telling  a  story,  which  consists : 
in  a  caustic,  dry  manner,  that  is  well  adapted  to  give  it  point ; 
and  sometimes  he  indulges  this  talent  with  signal  success  beforei. 
the  juries.     When  he  is  at  home, — which  is  not  often  above  a; 
week  or  ten  days  at  a  time, — he  devotes  himself  almost  entirely!'  < 
to  his  farm.     He  is  celebrated  there  for  a  fine  breed  of  hounds  j-; 
and  fox-hunting  is  quite  a  passion  with  him.     This  is  the  onlj' 
sport  in  which  he  indulges  to  any  excess  ;  and  so  far  does  he  car- 
ry it,  tliat  he   often  takes  his   dogs  with  him  upon  the  circuit 
when  his  duty  calls  him,  in  the  hunting  season,  to  certain  partfi  i 
of  tlic  country  where  one  or  two  gentlemen  reside  who  are  foiu 
of  this  pastime.     On  these  occasions  he  billets  the  hounds  upoi 


P II I  L  P  O  T     W  A  II  T .  1  85 


is  landlord,  and  waits  patiently  until  he  dispatches  his  business ; 
nd  then  he  turns  into  the  field  with  all  the  spirit  and  zest  of 
umrod.  He  has  some  lingering  recollections  of  the  classics,  and 
<  a  little  given  to  quoting  them,  without  much  regard  to  the  ap- 
ropriateness  of  the  occasion.  It  is  told  of  him,  that  one  fine 
lorning,  in  December,  he  happened  to  be  with  a  party  of  brother 
portsmen  in  full  chase  of  a  gray  fox,  under  circumstances  of  un- 
sual  animation.  The  weather  was  cool,  a  white  frost  sparkled 
pon  the  fields,  the  sun  had  just  risen  and  flung  a  beautiful  light 
jver  the  landscape,  the  fox  was  a-foot,  the  dogs  in  full  cry,  the 
untsmen  shouting  with  exuberant  mirth,  the  woods  re-echoing  to 
le  clamor,  and  every  one  at  high  speed  in  hot  pursuit.  Philly 
as  in  an  ecstasy,  spurring  forward  his  horse  with  uncommon  ar- 
or,  and  standing  in  his  stirrups,  as  if  impatient  of  his  speed, 
hen  he  was  joined  in  the  chase  by  two  or  three  others  as  much 
elighted  as  himself.  In  this  situation  he  cried  out  to  one  of  the 
arty,  '•  Isn't  this  fine  ;  don't  it  put  you  in  mind  of  Virgil  7 
'ityre  tu  patulas  recubans  sub  tegmine  fagi."  Philly  denies  the 
ict ;  but  some  well  authenticated  flourishes  of  his  at  the  bar,  of 
similar  nature,  give  great  semblance  of  truth  to  the  story. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  a  pair  of  his  hounds  will  steal  after 
im,  and  follow  him  through  the  circuit,  without  his  intending  it ; 
nd  when  this  occurs,  he  has  not  the  heart  to  drive  them  back. 
'his  was  the  case  at  the  present  court :  accordingly,  he  was  fol- 
)wed  by  his  dogs  to  Swallow  Barn.  They  slink  close  behind  his 
orse,  and  trot  together  as  if  they  were  coupled. 

Philly's  universal  acquaintance  through  the  country  and  his 
re-eminent  popularity  have,  long  since,  brought  him  into  public 
fe.  He  has  been  elected  to  the  Assembly  for  twenty  years  past, 
rithout  opposition  ;  and,  indeed,  the  voters  will  not  permit  him 
3  decline.  It  is,  therefore,  a  regular  part  of  his  business  to  at- 
snd  to  all  political  matters  aff'ecting  the  county.     His  influence 


1 8G  P  H I L  P  O  T     W  A  R  T . 

iu  this  department  is  wonderful.  He  is  consulted  in  reference 
to  all  plans,  and  his  advice  seems  to  have  the  force  of  law.  He 
is  extremely  secret  in  his  operations,  and  appears  to  carry  his 
point  by  his  calm,  quiet,  and  unresisting  manner.  He  has  the 
reputation  of  being  a  dexterous  debater,  and  of  making  some 
sharp  and  heavy  hits  when  roused  into  opposition ;  though  many 
odd  stories  are  told,  at  Kichmond,  of  his  strenuous  efforts,  at 
times,  to  be  oratorical.  He  is,  however,  very  much  in  the  confi- 
dence of  the  political  managers  of  all  parties,  and  seldom  fails  to 
carry  a  point  when  he  sets  about  it  in  earnest. 

During  the  war,  Philly  commanded  a  troop  of  volunteer  light- 
horse,'  and  was  frequently  employed  in  active  service,  in  guarding 
the  hen-roosts  along  the  river  from  the  attacks  of  the  enemy. 
These  occasions  have  furnished  him  with  some  agreeable  episodes 
in  the  history  of  his  life.  He  gives  a  faithful  narrative  of  his  ex- 
ploits at  this  period,  and  does  not  fail  to  throw  a  dash  of  comic 
humor  into  his  account  of  his  campaigns. 

In  our  ride  to  Swallow  Barn,  he  and  Meriwether  were  princi- 
pally  engrossed  with  the  subject  of  the  expected  arbitration. 
Meriwether  particularly  enjoined  it  upon  him  so  to  manage  the 
matter  as  to  make  up  a  case  in  favor  of  Mr.  Tracy,  and  to  give 
such  a  decision  as  would  leave  the  old  gentleman  in  possession  of 
the  contssted  territory. 

Philly  revolved  the  subject  carefully  in  his  mind,  and  assured 
Frank  that  he  would  have  no  difficulty  in  putting  Swansdowii 
upon  such  a  train  as  could  not  fail  to  accomplish  their  ends. 

"  But  it  seems  strange  to  me,"  said  the  counsellor,  "  that  the  ij 
old  man  would  not  be  content  to  take  the  land  without  all  this  i] 
circuity." 

"We  must  accommodate  ourselves  to  the  peculiarities  of  oui  j 
neighbors,"  replied  Meriwether,  "  and,  pray  be  careful  that  yOA  ', 
give  no  offence  to  his  pride,  by  the  course  you  pursue." 


PIIILPOT     WAllT.  187 

"  I  have  never  before  been  engaged  in  a  case  with  such  in- 
structions," said  Philly.  "  This  looks  marvellously  like  an  Irish 
donkey  race,  where  each  man  cudgels  his  neighbor's  ass.  Well,  I 
suppose  Singleton  Swansdown  will  take  the  beating  without  being 
I'more  restive  under  it  than  others  of  the  tribe  !" 

'•  I  beseech  you,  use  him  gently,"  said  Meriwether.  "  He  will 
)e  as  proud  of  his  victory  as  ourselves." 

Philly  laughed  the  more  heartily  as  he  thought  of  this  novel 
case.  Now  and  then  be  relapsed  into  perfect  silence,  and  then 
again  and  again  broke  forth  into  a  chuckle  at  his  own  meditations 
upon  the  subject. 

"  You  are  like  a  king  who  surrenders  by  negotiation,  all  that 
le  has  won  by  fighting,"  said  he,  laughing  again ;  "  we  shall  ca- 
3itulate,  at  least,  with  the  honors  of  war, — drums  beating  and 
olors  %ing !" 

"  It  is  the  interest  of  the  commonwealth  that  there  should  be 
m  end  of  strife  ;  I  believe  so  the  maxim  runs,"  said  Meriwether, 
miling. 

"  Concordia,  parvas  res  crescunt ;  discordia  maxim^e  dilabun- 
iur,"  added  the  counsellor.  "  But  it  seems  to  me  to  be  something 
)f  a  wild-goose  chase  notwithstanding." 

Philly  repeated  these  last  words  as  he  dismounted  at  the  gate 
it  Swallow  Barn,  and,  throwing  his  saddle-bags  across  his  arm, 
16  walked  into  We  house  with  the  rest  of  the  party. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE      PHILOSOPHEPc      UNBENT. 

The  next  norning  opened  upon  us  in  all  the  beauty  of  the 
season,  i  )ry  necessary  preparation  had  been  completed  for  the 
definite  adji  stment  of  the  long  abiding  lawsuit.  The  household 
was  in  motio  ii  at  an  hour  much  earlier  than  usual,  and  a  general 
anxiety  seen  ed  to  prevail  throughout  the  family  to  speed  the 
issues  of  tl  5  day.  Meriwether  was  animated  by  unwonted 
spirits  ;  and  Hazard  and  myself  anticipated,  with  some  eagerness, 
the  entrance  upon  a  business  that  promised  to  us  nothing  but  |j 
amusement  i\  its  progress.  The  notoriety  which  all  the  prelimi- 
nary movemen  s  in  this  matter  had  gained  from  the  frequent " 
conversations  6  *  Meriwether  relating  to  it,  had  magnified  its  im- 
portance in  a  di  ^ree  much  disproportioned  to  its  intrinsic  merit. 
The  day  was  tl  irefore  considered  a  kind  of  jubilee.  Mr.  Chub 
had  expressed  a  strong  wish  to  be  present  at  the  settlement ;  and 
had,  accordingh  ,  proclaimed  a  holiday  in  the  school.  The  chil- 
dren were  all  in  i  state  of  riotous  excitement.  Rip  was  especially 
delighted  with  \  le  prospect  of  the  approaching  bustle.  Prudence 
partook  of  the  C(  mmon  feeling  with  rather  more  restlessness  than 
any  one  else.  Vhere  was  a  studied  sedateness  upon  her  features, 
which  was  not  altogether  natural ;  and  this  was  contrasted  with 
her  motions,  which  seemed  to  be  unsettled,  variable  and  perplexed. 


THE     rillLOSOniER     UNBENT.  189 

PLilly  Wart  liad  risen  soon  after  the  dawn,  and  had  taken  a 
»valk  of  two  or  three  miles  before  the  family  began  to  assemble. 
About  an  hour  before  breakfast,  he  had  seated  himself  on  the 
bench  of  the  porch,  alone  with  Mr.  Chub,  and  was  there  chipping 
1  stick  with  his  penknife,  as  he  kept  up  a  desultory  discourse  with 
the  parson,  upon  divers  matters  connected  with  the  history,  doc- 
trine and  discipline  of  the  Presbyterian  Church.  What  were  the 
particulars  of  this  conversation  I  could  not  leart,  but  it  had  a 
timulating  effect  upon  his  companion,  who  took  occasion  to  call 
ne  aside,  as  soon  as  it  wag  finished,  and  said  to  me,  "  Faith,  that 
!*hilly  Wart,  as  you  call  him,  is  a  sensible  old  fellow  !  He's  a 
nan  of  a  great  deal  of  wit,  Mr.  Littleton  !  He  is  a  philosopher 
)f  the  school  of  Demoeritus  of  Abdera,  and  knows  as  much  about 
:he  kirk  of  Scotland  as  if  he  had  been  at  the  making  of  the  cove- 
aant.  And  not  very  starched  in  his  creed  neither,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  a 
peer  genius  !" 

Philly  himself,  after  leaving  the  parson,  was  sauntering  up 
md  down  in  the  hall,  with  his' coat  buttoned  close  about  him,  so 
IS  to  cause  a  roll  of  papers  which  was  lodged  in  one  of  his  pockets 
to  protrude  somewhat  oddly  from  above  his  hip.  In  this  situation 
[  joined  him.  "  Your  parson  there,  is  a  great  scholar,"  said  he, 
smiling ;  "  we  have  had  a  bout  together  concerning  church  mat- 
ters ;  and  the  old  gentleman  has  been  entertaining  me  with  a 
jpeech,  for  an  hour  past.  He  is  a  very  vehement  orator,  and  has 
puzzled  me  with  his  Grecian  heroes  until  I  hadn't  a  word  to  say. 
[  think  he  likes  a  good  listener :  but  I  am  entirely  too  rusty  for 
pim.  I  must  rub  up  the  n-ext  time  I  talk  with  him. 
I  Just  before  breakfast  Harvey  Riggs  and  Ralph,  having  in 
3onvoy  Catharine  and  Bel  Tracy,  rode  up  to  the  door  ;  and  our 
attention  was  called  to  the  party,  by  the  loud  salutations  of  Har- 
vey. "  Hark  you,  Ned  !  spring  to  your  post,  and  catch  Bel  before 
(  khe  touches  ground. " 


190  THE     PHILOSOPHER     UNBENT. 

Hazard  succeeded  in  reacliing  the  outer  side  of  the  gate  just 
in  time — not  to  catch  Bel,  who  had  already  dismounted  with  the    , 
nimbleness  of  a  bird — but  to  take  the  rein  of  her  horse  and  fasten 
it  to  the  fence,  and  then  to  conduct  the  lady  to  the  door. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  were  ranged  around  the  ample 
breakfast  board.  Mr.  Wart  was  inclined  to  be  jocular,  and  Meri- 
wether indulged  in  some  good-natured  speculations  upon  the  cer- 
tainty of  his  success  in  the  case.  Harvey  Kiggs  was  placed  next 
to  ]3el  at  the  table,  and  took  occasion  to  whisper  in  her  ear,  that 
he  had  no  faith  in  these  negotiations  for  a  peace,  and  added,  that 
he  rested  his  hopes  entirely  upon  the  prophecy  of  old  Diana ; 
then,  looking  towards  Ned,  who  sat  opposite,  he  remarked,  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  the  latter,  "  there  is  but  one  way  of  giving  .^ 
permanency  to  these  family  treaties." 

Ned  colored  up  to  the  eyes — affected  not  to  understand,  and  * 
asked  for  another  cup  of  coffee.     Bel  was  more  self-possessed,  and  , 
replied  with  perfect  composure,  "  Cousin  Harvey,  look  to  yourself, 
or  I  shall  dismiss  you  from  my  service." 

After  breakfast,  it  was  determined  that  it  would  be  necessary 
for  the  contending  powers  to  have  a  personal  inspection  of  the 
seat  of  war.  The  old  mill  was  proposed  as  the  trysting  place,  and 
the  principal  discussion,  it  was  settled,  should  be  held  on  the 
banks  of  the  famous  Apple-pie.  Mr.  Tracy's  arrival  with  his 
privy  counsellor,  Swansdown,  was  looked  for  with  impatience ;  and, 
in  the  mean  time,  our  whole  company  had  broken  off  into  detach- 
ments. 

Prudence  and  Catharine  had  gone  out  upon  the  grass-plot  in 
front  of  the  house  ;  and  were  slowly  walking  to  and  fro,  without  t 
any  covering  upon  their  heads,  and  with  their  arms  around  eacli   ■; 
other's  waists,  in  deep  and  secret  communion,  under  the  shade  of 
the  willow.     Bip  had  run  off  with  a  whoop  and  halloo  to  the  stable 
to  order  up  the  necessary  cavalry  for  the  expedition.     The  little    \ 


THE     PHILOSOPHER     UNBENT.  191 

rls  were  jumping  a  rope  on  the  gravel-walk.  My  cousin  Lucre- 
a  was  busy  with  household  matters.  Wart  and  Meriwether  were 
mniug  over  some  papers  in  the  breakfast  room ;  and  Harvey 
,iggs,  Kalph  Tracy,  Hazard,  and  myself,  were  seated  in  the  porch 
itiently  abiding  the  progress  of  events. 

Bel,  who  had  been  roaming  at  large  from  group  to  group,  and 
[aking  amusement  for  herself  out  of  all,  like  one  whose  spirits 
jould  not  allow  her  to  remain  stationary,  had  picked  up  the  dice 
at  belonged  to  a  backgammon  board  in  the  parlor,  and  now 
me  to  the  porch  where  we  were  seated,  rattling  them  in  the  box, 
id  making  as  much  noise  as  she  could. 

"  I  mean  to  tell  the  fortune  of  the  day,"  said  she ;  "  why  are 
ot  these  dice  just  as  good  judges  of  boundary  lines  as  all  the 
wyers  1  Now,  Mr.  Littleton,  observe  if  this  be  not  a  true  oracle, 
here's  for  Mr.  Meriwether,"  she  continued,  throwing  the  dice 
pon  the  bench.  "Four,  one.  That's  a  shabby  throw  for  Swallow 
arn.    Well,  here's  for  Pa.    Deuce,  ace." 

"  Good-bye  to  The  Brakes  !"  exclaimed  Harvey. 

"  No,  indeed  !"'  interrupted  Bel.  "  There's  a  great  deal  of 
ick  in  deuce,  ace.  But  we  will  give  Swallow  Barn  another  chance, 
here's  six,  four ;  that's  the  parson's  point,  as  Pa  calls  it." 

"  And  now  for  The  Brakes,  Bel,"  said  Ned ;  "  this  throw  must 
fl'ljittle  the  question." 

■  Treys,"  cried  Bel,  flinging  the  dice,  and  clapping  her  hands. 
Havn't  we  gained  it  now "?" 

"  No  !  certainly  not !"  said  Hazard.  "  They  make  but  six  to- 
ether,  and  Swallow  Barn  had  ten." 

"But,"  answered  Bel,  "you  forget,  Edward,  that  there  is  a 
uckier  number  than  any  other ;  and  we  have  got  three,  three 
imes  out  of  the  dice." 

"  The  luck,"  replied  Ned,  "is  in  the  highest  number." 

"  Do  you  wait  here,  and  I  will  go  and  ask  Mr.  Chub,"  said  Bel, 


x.l 


192  THE   piiiLosoriiEEi    unbent. 

"  who  will  tell  me  all  that  he  has  ever  read  about  fortunate  num^ 
bers.  Don't  interrupt  us,  for  the  old  gentleman  is  on  such  good 
terms  with  me,  that  he  says  a  great  deal  to  me  he  would  not  Id 
any  of  3'^ou  hear.     You  may  listen  to  us  through  the  windows." 

The  reverend  gentleman  was  seated  in  the  parlor  window  next 
to  the  porch,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  when  Bel  entered  and  tool 
a  seat  beside  him ;  and,  thus  arranged,  both  of  their  backs  wer( 
towards  the  window. 

Bel's  accost  wa^  very  grave. 

"Mr.  Chub,"  said  she,  with  a  gracious  and  r^espectful  voice 
"  do  you  think  there  is  any  thing  in  numbers  ?" 

"Ha,  ha  !"  cried  the  tutor,  in  a  kind  of  bewildered  laugh,  ai: 
if  he  did  not  exactly  comprehend  her  purpose,  "  'pon  my  honor' 
madam,  I  don't  know  how  to  answer  the  question.  There  an' 
multipliers  and'  multiplicands,  and " 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Bel,  "  do  you  think  there  is  an;; 
luck  in  numbers  ?" 

"  If  you  mean  in  a  number  of  lawyers  to  try  the  question  oi: 
the  old  mill-dam,  I  think  the  more  there  are,  the  worse  the  luck 
Upon  my  veracity,  I  would  rather  have  Mr.  Philpot  Wart  thai 
the  whole  bar  ;  judges,  juries,  and  all.  Miss  Bell !    Ha,  ha  !" 

"  You  don't  understand  me  yet,"  answered  BeU. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  !"  interrupted  the  tutor. 

"  I  didn't   speak  with  reference  to   the  mill-dam   questioE 
either,  but  I  wanted  to  know,  if  there  are  not  some  number^' 
deemed  more  fortunate  than  others.     "Were  not  the  ancients  jj 
little  superstitious  about  the  number  of  crows  that  flew  acres 
the  heavens  of  a  morning,  for  instance  ?"  ; 

"  Assuredly,  madam  !"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  now  begin' 
ning  to  take  Bel's  meaning;  "  all  nations  have  had  some  leanin; 
to  be  superstitious  about  numbers.     The  number  twelve  has  ha< 
a  great  deal  of  distinction  conferred  upon  it.     The  twelve  apos' 


LHl 


THE    rii  iLosoniKR    unbent.  193 

es,  and  the  twelve  hours  of  the  day,  and  tlio  twelve  months  of 
e  year,  in  spite  of  the  moon.  Miss  Bel !  That  looks  as  if  there 
1  Jas  some  virtue  in  the  number.  And,  you  know,  the  Romans 
,d  their  laws  written  on  twelve  tables  ;  and  the  Greeks  cele- 
ated  the  twelve  labors  of  Hercules.  And  I  believe,  up  to 
WE^is  day,  it  always  takes  twelve  men  to  make  a  jury.  There  is 
mething  heathenish  in  that,  Miss  Isabella,  ha,  ha!" 

This  last  burst  was  manifestly  destined  for  a  sally  of  wit,  and 

e  good  old  gentleman  continued  to  laugh   at  it  immoderately. 

el  appeared  to  relish  it  herself     "  And  there  are  imagined  to 

some  occult  influences  in  the  trines  and  nones,"  continued  the 

tor,  after  he  had  laughed  his  fill,  "  not  to  say  any  thing  of 

ven,  of  which   number,  nevertheless,  I  will  mention  a  few  ex- 

;l,o]    aples — for  it  was  an  especial  favorite  both  of  Jew  and  Chris- 

m.      We   well    know  that  the   week    has   seven   days,    Miss 

abella." 

'  Yes,"  said  Bel, ''  that  is  very  well  known." 

"  And  the  Jews  thought  we  should  forgive  our  enemy  seven 

aes, — which  the  Scripture  says,  with  reason,  should  be  seventy 

es  seven. — and  the  Revelation  speaks  of  the  seven  phials  of 

ath,  with  divers  other  sevens  :  and  we  read  of  the  seven  ages 

man,  which  I  need  not  enumerate.     You  have  heard.  Mistress 

^bella,  of  the  seven  sages  of  Greece,  and  of  the  seven  wonders 

the  world  ?  Besides  these,  and  many  more  that  I  could  think 

the  monkish  legends  tell  us  some  strange  adventures  of  the 

ren  sleepers  " — 

'  "  Mercv.  what  a  list  of  sevens  !"  cried  Bel. 
i  — '•  Who  slept  in  a  cave  for  two  hundred  and  thirty  years, 
int  Maximian,  Saint  Malchus,  and  their  comrades.    Wherefore 
Iponclude  seven  to  be  a  lucky  number." 

{  "  It  was  undoubtedly  a  very  lucky  thing  for  the  seven  sleep- 
tj?  all  to  awake  up  again,  after  such  a  long  sleep."  said  Bel. 

:  9  ■  ' 


<.;, 


194  THE     PHILOSOPHER     UNBENT. 

"  Ha,  ha !"  ejaculated  the  old  gentleman,  in  another  fit  of 
laughter,  "  that's  very  well  said.  Miss  Isabel !  but  the  number 
three,"  continued  the  tutor,  "  is  even  more  eminent  in  mystical 
properties.  The  most  ancient  Egyptians  worshipped  the  holy 
Triangle  Equilateral,  as  being  the  symbol  of  divine  harmony; 
and  Pythagoras  and  Plato  have  both  taught  the  mysteries  of 
this  number.  You  are,  moreover,  aware,  Miss  ]3el,  that  there 
were  three  Grorgons." 

"  I  thought  there  were  four  !"  said  Bel,  with  an  air  of  aston- 
ishment. 

"  Three,  madam,"  replied  the  parson,  "  Stheno,  Euryale,  and 
Medusa.     And  there  were  three  Furies  too." 

"  "What  were  their  names,  Mr.  Chub  ?" 

"  Tisiphone,  Masgara,  and  Alecto,"  said  he,  enumerating  his 
triads  slowly  upon  his  fingers.  And  there  were  the  three  Graces, 
my  dear  !  You  know  their  names  very  well — Thalia,  Euphro- 
syne,  and  Aglaia.  The  Fates, — there  were  three  of  them,  yon ' 
remember ;  and,  faith,  they  have  had  work  enough  to  do ! 
Clotho,  Lachesis,  and  Atropos: — if  you  had  studied  Greek,  Miss;. 
Bel,  you  would  understand  how  well  their  names  became  them.' ' 

"  Listen,  if  you  would  live  and  laugh!"  exclaimed  Harvej:i 
Biggs,  who  was  sitting  on  the  rail  of  the  porch,  and  taking  in '| 
every  word  of  this  odd  discourse.     "  Here  is  the  parson,  pouring,! 
a  whole  dictionary  of  outlandish  nonsense  into  Bel's  ear,  and  she 
humoring     all     his     pedantry    with    the    most    incomparable 
gravity !" 

"  There  might  be  cited  many  more  of  these  triple  sister ' 
hoods,"  continued   Mr.  Chub, — Bel  still  looking  in  his  face  mtl'\ 
an  encouraging  earnestness,  — "  as  for  another   example,  then 
were  the  Horoe ;  namely,  Dice,  Irene,  Eunomia:  the  Harpies,- 
CcxOeno,  Ocypetc,  Aello   (still  counting  with  the  same  precisioii  | 
as  before) ;  wo  must  not  forget  the  Sirens, — bless  me  !  no — th<'i' 


THE     PIlILOSOrHEll     UNBENT.  195 

adies  are  often  called  Sirens  tliemsclveSj  ha.  ha  !  Parthenopc — 
Parthenope — let  me  sec — "  He  paused,  with  the  forefinger  of  his 
fight  hand  upon  the  middle  finger  of  his  left :  "  Tut,  it  slips 
ny  memory !  I  am  very  bad  at  remembering  names." 

'•  Particularly  bad  !"  said  Bel,  interrupting  him  and  smiling. 

"  Parthenope,  Miss  Tracy,  child,  I  had  it  on  my  tongue  !  I 
tm  getting  old,  Miss  Isabel !     I  dare  say,  you  can  help  me  out." 

'•  Indeed,  I  dare  say  I  cannot,"  replied  Bel ;  "  you  have 
urned  my  brain  so  topsy-turvy  with  such  a  list  of  hard  names, 
hat  I  have  almost  forgotten  what  I  came  to  ask  you." 

"  You  have  totally  omitted,  Mr.  Chub,  to  mention  the  three 
ise  men  of  Gotham  that  went  to  sea  in  a  bowl,"  said  Hazard, 
peaking  to  the  parson  from  the  porch. 

"  And  the  three  blind  mice,  that  lost  their  tails  on  a  visit  to 
jhe  farmer's  wife,"  said  Harvey  Biggs. 

'•  And  the  three  fiddlers  of  old  king  Cole,"  said  Hazard. 

'•'  Poh  !  Get  along,  Mr.  Edward  and  Mr.  Harvey  !  you  are 
oth  too  much  given  to  be  waggish.  I  doubt  you  will  never 
aend  your  ways  while  you  keep  each  other's  company  !"  cried 
he  good  old  gentleman,  comjDletely  overborne  by  this  spirited  at- 
p,  ack  upon  him ;  and  as  he  said  this,  he  turned  round  upon  them 
.  face  full  of  queer  perplexity  at  being  caught  in  the  high  career 
f  this  scholarly  exercitation.  He  is  especially  sensitive  to  the 
3ast  jest  that  is  aimed  at  this  peculiarity. 

"  "Well,"  said  Bel,  "  I  am  really  very  much  obliged  to  you, 
Ir.  Chub,  for  your  instructive  lecture  ;  and  I  shall  always  re- 
aember  hereafter,  that  the  Graces  were  three  young  women,  and 
he  Furies,  three  old  ones :  and  that  three  is  the  luckiest  num- 
er  in  arithmetic." 

By  this  time  two  horsemen,  followed  by  a  servant,  had  come 
b  sight  upon  the  road  leading  to  the  gate.  They  advanced  at  a 
jisure  pace,  and  were  soon  descried  to  be  Mr.  Tracy  in  company 


196  THE  PHILOSOPHER  UNBENT. 

with  Swansdown.  The  old  g.entleman's  face,  even  at  a  distance-, 
exhibited  careful  thought,  and  his  bearing  was  grave  and  man-' 
nerlj.  He  was  in  deep  conversation  with  his  friend,  up  to  the! 
moment  of  their  arrival  at  the  gate.  Meriwether  tvent  forth  to| 
meet  him,  and  assisted  him  from  his  horse  with  an  affectionate! 
and  highly  respectful  assiduity. 

As  soon  as  he  was  on  his  feet,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  made ! 
Meriwether  a  formal  bow ;  and  then  walked  across  the  court-yard  i 
to  the  door,  making  many  obeisances  to  the  company.     Swans- 1 
down   followed   with   scarcely   less   ceremony;    and   they   w£re 
ushered  into  the  parlor. 

"We  have  an  agreeable  day's  work  before  us,  Mr.  Meri-' 
wether,"  said  Mr.  Tracy,  with  an  air  of  sprightly  politeness,  but 
in  a  voice  somewhat  tremulous  from  }' ears.  "  Permit  me  to  as- 
sure you  it  is  not  a  small  gratijBcation  to  me,  that  we  come  so 
amicably  to  the  close  of  a  controversy,  which,  in  other  hands, 
might  have  been  embittered  with  many  unkind  feelings.  This 
has  been  conducted  with  so  much  courtesy,  from  beginning  to 
end,  that  I  had  almost  flattered  myself  with  the  hope,  I  should 
have  had  the  luxury  of  it  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

He  concluded  this  complimentary  speech  with  a  dash  of  gayety 
in  his  tone,  and  a  vivacious  gesticulation  of  his  body ;  and  then 
turning  round  to  the  ladies,  with  smiles  upon  his  face,  he  made 
many  civil  inquiries  after  family  matte'rs. 

The  parties  now  being  all  assembled,  our  next  move  was  te 
the  old  mill. 


CHAPTER  XXlll. 


TRIAL     BY     VIEW. 


Whe.n  mounted  our  muster  consisted  of  ten  persons,  besides  the 

I  servants,  and  included  all  the  gentlemen  assembled,  with  the  ad- 

;  dition  of  Rip,  who,  astride  of  Spitfire,  caracoled  and  bounded  from 

I  place   to  place,  like  a  young  adjutant   of  a  squadron.     The   old 

I  walls  of  Swallow  Barn  had  never  echoed  back  the  tramp,  the 

I  hum,  or   the  shouts  of  a  more   goodlj'-  company  than  that  which 

I  now  filed  oif  from  the  gate.     Our  ranks  were  accommodated  to 

the  nature  of  the  road  we  had  to  travel.     At  first,  Mr.  Wart, 

i  with  his  papers  still  peeping  forth  from  his  pocket,  shot  ahead  of 

i  the  troop  by  the  common  brisk  and  easy-racking  gait  to  which 

his  tall  and  ungainly  steed  was  accustomed;  and  he  did  not  seem 

to  be  aware   of  the  inequality  of  his  pace,  until  he  had  gained 

about  a  hundred  yards  upon  the  cavalcade,  and  was  admonished 

by  a  call  from  two  or  three  of  the  party,  that  he  would  soon  leave 

us  out  of  sight,  if  he  went  on  at  that  speed.     His  two  hounds 

were,  as  usual,  jogging  close  at  his  horse's  heels ;  and  any  one 

might  very  well  have   mistaken  our  whole  equipment  for  a  party 

setting  out  to  beat  a  cover,  with   the  principal    huntsman   in  ad- 

j  vance  ;  for,  in  addition   to   Philly's  bounds,  we  had  every  dog  of 

i  Swallow  Barn   in   our  train.     Never,  since  the  deluge,  was  there 

j  a  lawsuit  to  be  determined  by  so  grotesque  an   array  of  judges, 


198  TRIAL     BY     VIEW. 

counsellors,  parties  and  witnesses,  as  this  !     And  never  before  in 
the  history  of  jurisprudence,  perhaps,  was  there  such  a  case  ! 

Phillj  Wart  was  highly  amused.  He  had  brought  himself  to 
look  upon  the  whole  matter  as  a  mere  pastime,  and  he  was  now 
determined  to  make  the  best  of  it.  He  could  not  for  a  moment 
give  his  features  a  serious  cast,  but  laughed  in  reply  to  every 
question,  like  a  man  tickled  with  his  own  thoughts.  He  had 
reined  up  his  horse,  in  obedience  to  our  call,  and  was  looking 
back  upon  the  approaching  host,  when  I  rode  up  to  him.  ■ 

"  This  is  a  mode  of  practice  very  much  to  my  liking,"  said  ; 
he.  "  The  law  would  not  be  such  a  wearisome  business,  Mr. 
Littleton,  if  its  affairs  were  to  be  transacted  in  the  field  o'  horse- 
back; and  with  a  fine  pack  of  dogs  instead  of  a  jury.  Famous 
juries  they'd  make,  for  courses  and  distances,  in  an  ejectment, 
ha,  ha,  ha  !  If  it  were  only  the  right  season,  I  think  we  should 
be  likely  to  look  over  more  boundary  lines  than  one  to-day." 

The  same  tone  of  enjoyment  seemed  gradually  to  have  visited  j 
even  old   Mr.  Tracy,  after  we  had  left  the  gate.     Before  this,  \ 
there  was  a  deep-seated  care  upon  his  brow ;  but  he  now  began  ■ 
to  take  the  hue  of  the  hour.     We  had  entered,  after  riding  some 
distance,  upon  a  narrow  and  tangled  path,  beset  with  underwood,  ; 
that  indicated  our  proximity  to  the  ground  around  the  mill. 
Through  this  portion  of  our  road  we  were  constrained  to  pass  in 
single  files,  thus  elongating  our  line  of  march,  until  it  resembled 
that  of  a  detachment  of  cavalry  exploring  a  suspected  haunt  of 
an  enemy.     The  resemblance  occasioned  our  venerable  friend  of 
The  Brakes  to  turn  round   to  Meriwether  and  remark,  with  a 
pleasant  but  precise  form  of  address, — 

'•  You  perceive,  Mr.  Meriwether,  that  the  most  formidable  in- 
vasion of  the  Apple-pie  frotftier  continues  now,  as  of  old,  to  come 
from  the  direction  of  Swallow  Barn." 

"  I  could  heartily  wish,  my  dear  friend,"  replied  Frank,  '•  that 


TRIAL     BY     VIEW.  190 

every  invasion  in  the  world  were  as  certain  to  promote  the  ends 
of  justice  and  peace  as  this.  And  I  could  wish,  too,  that  every 
supposed  encroachment  Aipon  right,  should  be  as  gallantly  and 
honorably  met." 

''  But  not  quite  so  obstinately  defended,"  said  Harvey  Riggs, 
in  a  half  whisper,  as  h&  turned  round  on  his  saddle  to  make  the 
if      remark  to  Ned  Hazard. 

'•  Amen  !"  said  Ned. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  mill  there  was  a  silent  pause  for 
some  moments,  in  which  every  one  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  sur- 
veying the  ragged,  marshy- and  unprofitable  features  of  the  laud- 
scape,  and  wondering  in  his  own  mind  (at  least  all  but  Mr,  Tracy) 
how  such  a  piece  of  land  could  possibly  have  furnished  a  subject 
for  such  a  protracted  litigation.  Philly  Wart  appeared  to  be 
aware  of  the  common  surprise,  and  looking  round,  somewhat  jest- 
ingly, in  the  faces  of  the  group,  remarked, — 

"  Yes,  there  it  is  !  And  all  that  we  have  to  do  is,  to  get  down 
from  our  horses,  organize  the  court,  and  fall  to  work  to  determine 
whether  the  heirs  of  Swallow  Barn  or  of  The  Brakes  are  hereaf- 
ter to  be  pestered  with  this  fine,  garden  of  wankopins  and  snake- 
collar  ds  ! " 

We  dismounted  ;  and  some  moments  elapsed  before  the  par- 
ties were  ready  to  proceed  to  the  business  in  hand.  In  this 
interval,  the  counsellor  had  walked  up  to  the  tutor,  who  stood 
upon  a  hillock,  with  his  glass  up  to  his  eye,  surveying  the  scene. 

••  What  do  you  think  of  the  prospect,  Mr.  Chub  ? "  asked 
Philly  Wart.  "  By  what  name  would  you  venture  to  describe 
this  luxuriant,  refreshing,  and  sightly  piece  of  land  ?  Is  it  7na- 
riscus,  or  9nora,  or  Indmtis,  or  simple  locus  pahidosus .?" 

"  Sure  it  is  not  to  look  at  this  ill-favored  quagmire,  that  we 
have  been  risking  our  necks  under  boughs  of  trees,  and  dodging 
through  brambles  this  morning  !"  exclaimed  the  tutor. 


200  TRIAL     BY     VIEW. 

"  Aye,"  answered  Philly,  '•  this  is  the  very  ground  of  conten- 
tion that  has  enlivened  the  annals  of  two  families  and  their  de- 
scendants, for  half  a  century.  It  has  been  a  gay  quarrel,  Mr. 
Chub,  and  has  cost  something  more  than  breath  to  keep  it  up. 
It  has  lost  nothing  of  its  dignity,  I  warrant  you,  for  want  of  long 
opinions  and  sober  counsel !  Floreat  Lex.  Mr.  Chub,  is  our 
motto  !  It  is  a  merry  day  for  our  craft,  when  laymen  take  to 
reading  the  statutes,  and  pride  holds  the  purse-strings." 

"  This  is  a  great  Sirbonian  bog,"  said  the  tutor.  "  It  is  as 
worthless  as  the  Pomptinae  Paludes, — Gad-a-mercy  !  it  should  be 
relinquished  by  unanimous  consent  to  the  skunks  and  the  musk- 
rats!" 

"It  :s  a  hereditament,  as  we  lawyers  say,  Mr.   Chub,  that 

would  pass  under  the  name  runcaria^  which  signifies,  full  of 
brambles  and  briers,  or  rather,  by  the  title  in  our  law  Latin,  (I 
doubt  if  you  have  studied  that  kind  of  Latin,  Mr.  Chub  ?)  of 
Jampna^  which  comes,  as  Lord  Coke  says,  of  jo7iCj  the  French  for 
bulrush,  and  noiver^  a  waterish  place." 

"  Truly,  your  dog  Latin  suits  the  description  of  the  place 
marvellously  well,  Mr.  Philpot  Wart,"  said  the  tutor,  laughing. 
"  And  what  do  you  consider,  Mr.  Meriwether,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing Frank,  who  had  just  come  to  the  spot,  '•  the  value  of 
this  ground  to  be,  per  acre  ?  " 

"  About  sixpence,"  answered  Frank,  smiling. 

"  Too  high  ;  you  hold  it  all  too  dear,"  interrupted  Philly, 
"  threepence  at  the  outside,  and  dear  at  that.  But  come,  gentle- 
men,— Mr.  Swansdown  we  lose  time.     Let  us  to  business." 

Upon  this,  the  principal  personages  concerned  in  the  busi- 
ness of  the  day  withdrew  to  a  convenient  spot,  and  selecting  a 
piece  of  square  timber,  that  constituted  a  part  of  the  ruins  of  the 
mill,  they  took  their  seats. 

•  Old  Mr,  Tracy  now  very  deliberately  proceeded  to  empty  his 
pocket  of  a  bundle  of  papers,  neatly  tied  up  together,  and  loosen* 


aide- 


00 


TRIAL     RY     \'IEW.  2Ul 

ing  the  string  that  bound  them,  he  spread  them  out  upon  his 
knees.  Then,  after  some  rummaging,  he  produced  a  pair  of  spec- 
tacles, which,  with  great  caution,  he  adjusted  upon  his  nose  ;  and 
taking  up  one  of  the  papers,  he  presented  it  to  the  arbitrators, 
oaying,  "  here  is  the  first  letter  in  the  correspondence  which  arose 
between  the  lamented  Mr.  Walter  Hazard,  and  myself,  touching 
the  present  subject  of  difference.  If  you  prefer  it,  gentlemen,  I 
will  give  you  the  copy  of  the  letters  that  passed  in  the  year  1759, 
between  my  immediate  ancestor  and  the  first  Mr.  Edward  Haz- 
cird,  in  regard  to  that  latter  gentleman's  plan  of  erecting  this 
mill,  at  that  date." 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind,"  said  Philly,  with  an  air  of  affeclion- 
'ite  courtesy  towards  the  old  gentleman,  "  as  to  leave  these  pa- 
pers with  us,  Mr.  Tracy,  we  will  digest  them  at  our  leisure.  In 
the  mean  time,  we  will  look  at  the  deed  from  Gilbert  Tracy  to 
Edward  Hazard — I  have  it  here — "  Saying  this,  he  produced 
;he  roll  of  papers  which  had  been  so  conspicuous  about  his  person 
ill  the  morning,  and  took  from  it  the  deed  in  question. 

Here  Philly  mounted  his  spectacles,  and  began  to  read,  in  a 
jlear  voice,  such  parts  of  the  deed  as  related  to  the  nature  and 
iharacter  of  the  grant ;  and  which  parts,  in  order  that  my  reader 
night  thoroughly  understand  the  precise  question  in  dispute,  I 
lave  substantially  set  forth  in  a  former  chapter. 

"  This  deed,  Mr.  Swansdown,"  said  Philly,  as  he  finished  read- 
ng,  "  lays  the  whole  foundation  of  the  controversy  The  pre- 
ensions  of  the  parties,  as  based  upon  this  instrumenTi^  are  well 
mderstood,  and  all  that  remains  for  us  is  to  ascertain  what  was 
he  specific  meaning  of  the  parties  thereto." 

"  That  must  be  seen,"  said  Mr.  Tracy,  "  by  the  letters  which 
.  have  just  given  you." 

"  Upon  that  point,"  said  Philly  "Wart,  "  the  courts  have  uni 
ormly  decided  — " 

9* 


202  TRIAL     BY     VIEW. 

"  We  are  not  to  be  governed  by  the  adjudications  of  the  court, 
upon  any  of  these  questions,"  interrupted  Mr.  Tracy  ;  "  it  is  unj 
derstood  that  the  case  is  to  be  adjudged  according  to  the  princi ; 
pies  of  equity."  \ 

"  Equitas  sequitur  legem^  my  friend,"   said  Philly,  smiling! 
'•  If  there  be  ambiguity  patent,  that  is,  apparent  upon  the  face  of 
the  deed,  the  law  allows  testimony  to  be  received  as  to  the  intent 
of  the  parties  concerned  in  the  covenants.     But  where  the  inten- 
tion may  be  derived  from  the  construction  of  the  covenants  them 
selves,  according  to  their  plain  letter,  the  law  doth  not  permilj 
acts  and  matters  in  ^x^zs  to  be  used  to  set  up  an  intention  dehorv, 
the  written  instrument." 

"Pray,  Mr.  AYart,"  said  Swansdown,  "permit  me  to  ask, whe' 
ther  this  case,  agreeably  to  your  understanding  of  it,  is  governcc! 
by  the  Roman  or  civil  law,  or  strictly  according  to  the  technical' 
principles  of  the  common  law  ?" 

"  Only,  sir,  according  to  the  course  of  the  laws  of  this  com-j 
monwealth."  replied  Philly,  with  an  air  of  surprise  at  the  ques-: 
tion,  and  as  if  nettled  by  the  foppery  of  Swansdown's  manner! 
"  Your  suggestion,  Mr.  Tracy,  will  be  a  subject  for  our  consider! 
ation,"  he  continued,  assuming  his  former  mild  tone,  to  the  gen-i 
tleman  he  addressed. 

Various  other  papers  were  now  produced  and  read  ;  and  wheu: 
all  this  documentary  evidence  had  been  brought  to  view,  Philh 
remarked,  with  a  manner  that  seemed  to  indicate  profound  reflec- 
tion upon  the  case  in  hand  ; — 

"  An  idea  strikes  me,  which  appears  to  have  an  important  iml 
fluence  upon  the  subject  under  consideration.  I  confess  I  should' 
like  to  be  satisfied  upon  this  point.  Mr.  Swansdown  and  myself.' 
I  presume,  will  not  differ  about  the  construction  of  the  deed,  nor' 
upon  the  nature  of  the  law  by  which  it  is  to  be  determined,"  hcj 
added,  smiling ;   '•  but,  if  my  present  suspicions  be  confirmed,  it! 


TRIAL     BY     VIEW.  203 

is  more  than  probable  that  our  labor  will  bo  very  much  abridged, 
I  rather  suspect  that  this  case  will  be  found,  upon  examination, 
to  turn  upon  certain  matters  of  fact  which  have  never  yet  been 
brought  into  the  view  of  the  courts — " 

"  A  very  shrewd  old  gentleman  that,  Mr.  Hazard,"  whispered 
the  tutor,  who  stood  by  all  this  time,  listening  with  profound  at- 
tention ;  "  a  man  of  genius,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Edward !" 

'• — The  facts  to  which  I  allude  are  these  ;  namely,  in  the  first 
place,  to  what  distance  did  the  mill-dam  anciently  and  originally 
extend,  from  the  present  margin  of  the  Apple-pie,  in  upon  the 
land  belonging  to  the  tract  called  The  Brakes  ?  Secondly,  how 
long  did  the  mill-pond  exist  within  the  said  original  limits  ;  and 
\ri  when  did  it  first  begin  to  recede  from  the  same  ?  And,  thirdly, 
which  is  the  most  important  point  of  all,  did  the  same  mill-pond 
contract  in  its  dimensions  by  gradual  and  imperceptible  stages,  or 
did  it  sink  into  the  present  narrow  channel  of  the  Apple-pie,  by 
any  violent  and  sudden  disruption  of  its  banks?" 

"  The  bearing  and  value  of  these  questions,"  continued  the 
lawyer,  "  will  be  understood  by  referring  to  the  conceded  fact, 
namely,  that  the  two  contiguous  estates  were  divided  by  the  wa- 
ter-line or  margin  of  the  mill-dam  on  the  side  of  The  Brakes. 
Now,  it  is  a  principle  of  law,  upon  which  Mr.  Swansdown  and 
myself  cannot  possibly  disagree, — for  it  is  asserted  without  con- 
tradiction by  the  ablest  writers, — both  in  the  common  and  civil 
law,  Mr.  Swansdown,  that  where  a  river,  holding  the  relation 
which  this  mill-dam  occupied  between  these  two  estates,  changes 
its  course  by  slow  and  invisible  mutations,  so  as  to  leave  new  land 
where  formerly  was  water,  then  he  to  whose  territory  the  accre- 
tions may  be  made  in  such  wise,  shall  hold  them  as  the  gain  or 
increment  of  his  original  stock.  But  if  the  river  change  its  course 
by  some  forcible  impulse  of  nature,  as  by  violent  floods,  or  the 
like,  then  shall  he  who  suffers  loss  by  such  vicissitude,  be  indem- 


204  TRIAL     BY     VIEW. 

nified  by  the  possession  of  tlie  derelict  channel.  And  it  would 
seem  to  me,  that  in  case  the  river,  in  the  instance  put,  should 
merely  dwindle  and  pine  away,  as  this  famous  mill-pond  seems  to 
have  done,"  said  Philly,  with  a  smile,  '•  then,  the  possessors  of  the 
banks  on  either  side  should  consider  it  to  be  the  will  of  Heaven 
that  they  should  be  separated  by  narrower  partitions,  and  should, 
straightway,  follow  the  retreating  waters  ;  and,  when  these  become 
so  small  as  to  allow  them  to  do  so,  they  should  shake  hands  from 
the  opposite  banks,  and  thank  God  they  were  such  near  neigh- 
bors." 

"  He's  a  man  of  a  clear  head,  Mr.  Riggs,"  said  the  tut:r  again, 
with  inci  eased  admiration,  "  and  expounds  law  like  a  sage  : — 2.nd 
with  a  great  deal  of  wit  too  ! — He  reminds  me  of  the  celebrated 
Mr.  Ponsonby  whom  I  once  heard  at  the  Four  Courts,  in  a 
cause — " 

"  I  am  entirely  of  Mr.  Wart's  opinion  of  the  value  of  these 
considerations,"  said  Swansdown. 

"  They  seem  to  me  sagacious  and  reasonable,"  said  Mr.  Tracy, 
"  and  concur  to  strengthen  the  first  views  which  I  took  upon  this 
subject." 

"  Let  these  facts  then,  gentlemen,  be  inquired  into,"  said  Me- 
riwether. 

AYart  arose  from  his  seat,  and  walking  carelessly  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  group,  beckoned  Meriwether  to  follow  him,  and, 
when  they  were  together  said, — 

"  I  have  thrown  out  enough  to  put  Mr.  Tracy  upon  a  new 
scent,  which,  if  it  be  well  followed  up,  will  answer  our  purpose ; 
and  now,  I  think  I  will  give  our  friend  Swansdown  a  walk  into 
the  marsh." 

"  Since  it  is  agreed  Mr.  Swansdown,"  said  Philly,  returning 
to  the  party,  "  that  testimony  should  be  heard  upon  the  questions 
I  have  proposed,  we  shall  be  able  to  form  a  better  judgment  by  a 


TRIAL     BY     VIEW.  205 

cautious  survey  of  the  ground  ourselves.  It  is  scarcely  possible 
that  the  mill-pond  should  have  vanished  without  leaving  some 
traces  to  show  whether  it  went  off  in  a  night,  or  wasted  away, 
like  a  chesnut  fence-rail  under  the  united  attacks  of  sun  and  wind. 
There  is  nothing  like  the  Trial  by  View." 

"  In  what  manner  do  you  suppose,  Mr.  "Wart,  to  enjoy  this 
view?"  asked  Swansdown,  with  some  concern.  "  Can  we  see  it 
from  the  hill-side  ?  for  it  seems  rather  hazardous  for  a  passage  on 
horseback." 

"  By  walking  over  it,"  replied  Philly  very  cooly.  "  With  a 
little  circumspection  we  can  get  across  tolerabl}^  dry.  Leap  from 
one  tuft  to  another,  and  keep  your  balance.  The  thing  is  very 
easy." 

"  AVe  shall  find  brambles  in  our  way,"  said  the  reluctant 
Swansdown. 

'•  E  squilld  non  nascitur  rosa,  Mr.  Swansdown,"  replied  the 
other.  "  It  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  explored  a  marsh.  Why 
man.  if  you  had  your  gun  with  you,  the  woodcock  would  take  you 
twice  through  the  thickest  of  it !  This  is  a  notorious  place  for 
woodcock — " 

"  There  are  snakes,  and  some  of  them  of  a  dangerous  species. 
I  have  an  utter  horror  of  snakes,"  persisted  Swan-sdown. 

"  There  are  some  copperheads  and  a  few  mocassins,"   replied 

Philly,  "  whose  bite  is  not  altogether  harmless.     As  to  the  black 

snake,  and  viper,  and  common  water  snake,  you  may  assure  your- 

I  self  with  taking  them  in  your  hand.     Or  take  St.  Patrick's  plan, 

I  Mr.  Swansdown  ;  cut  a  hazle  rod,  and  if  you  use  it  properly  you 

may  conjure  every  snake  of  them  out  of  striking  distance." 

'•  Ha,  ha  !  A.  facetious  man,  that  Mr.  Philly  Wart,"  said  the 
parson  again,  to  Harvey  Riggs. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Swansdown,  I  will  lead  the  wny.  Don't  be 
alarmed:  We  shall  be  better  acquainted  with  the  boundary 
when  we  get  back." 


206  .  TRIAL     BY     VIEW. 

i 

Saying  these  words,  Philly  walked  forward  along  the  margin 
of  the  marshy  ground  which  was  once  the  bed  of  the  dam,  and  j 
having  selected  a  favorable  point  for  entering  upon  this  region,  • 
he  turned  into  it  with  a  prompt  and  persevering  step,  making  ad- . 
vantage  of  such  spots  as  were  firm  enough  to  sustain  his  weight, . 
and,  pushing  the  shrubbery  to  one  side,  was  soon  lost  to  view.  \ 
Swansdown,  ashamed  of  being  outdone,  but  protesting  his  reluc- ', 
tance,  and  laughing  with  a  forced  and  dry  laugh,  cautiously  en- . 
tered  at  the  same  point,  and  followed  in  Philly's  footsteps.  \ 
When  they  were  both  still  within  hearing,  Philly's  voice  could  be  : 
recognized,  saying — 

"  Look  where  you  step',  Mr.   Swansdown !     That's  the  true  • 
rule  of  life,  and  particularly  for   a  man  who  meddles  with  law.  '' 
Have  your  eyes  about  you,  man  !     Latet  anguis  in  herbd^  ha,  ha, 
ha  !" 

"  Hark  to  him  !"  exclaimed  the  parson.  "  A  prodigious  smart  , 
man,  that  Philly  Wart  !" 

"  After  a  short  interval,  Philly's  voice  was  heard  calling  out,  ; 
"  Mr.  Swansdown,  Mr.  Swansdown,  where  are  you  1     Not  lost,  I  I 
hope  !     This  way,  man ;  take  the  left  side  of  the  gum-tree,  and 
3'^ou  will  reach  the  bank  of  the  Apple-pie  as  dry  as  a  bone.     And  ; 
a  monstrous  stream  it  is,  as  you  will  find  when  you  get  here  !" 

"  I  have  encountered  shocking  obstacles,  Mr.  AYart,"  exclaimed  i; 
the  voice  of  Swansdown,  at  some  distance ;  '- 1  have  one  leg  sub-  ■; 
mersed  in  water  and  mud,  up  to  the  knee ;  and  have  had  a  score  ^ 
of  black-snakes  hissing  at  me,  ever  since  I  got  into  this  abomina-  :! 
ble  place.     Pray  allow  me  to  return  !"  i 

"  Come  on  man  !"  was  the  reply,  '-  you  will  reach  dry  ground 
presently.     What  signifies  a  wet  foot !     Here's  a  noble  prospect  ; 
for  you."  ' 

Another  interval  of  silence  now  ensued,  and  this  bciu";  fol-  ' 
lowed  by  a  distant  hum  of  conversation,  showed  us  that  the  two 
wanderers  had  fallen  again  into  company. 


TRIAL     CY     VIEW.  207 

Whilst  we  sat  amongst  the  willows  that  skirted  the  original 
margin  of  the  dam,  expecting  to  see  the  counsellor  and  his  com- 
panion emerge  from  the  thicket  on  the  opposite  side,  our  atten- 
tion was  all  at  once  aroused  by  the  deep  tongue  of  "Wart's  hounds, 
who  had  been  exploring  the  fastness  cotemporaneously  with  their 
master.  They  had  evidently  turned  out  a  fox  ;  and  the  rapidly 
retreating  and  advancing  notes  informed  us  of  the  fact  that  the 
object  of  their  pursuit  was  doubling,  with  great  activity,  from  one 
part  of  the  swamp  to  another.  This  sudden  outbreak  threw  a 
surprising  exhilaration  into  our  party. 

We  sprang  to  our  feet  and  ran  from  place  to  place,  expecting 
every  moment  to  see  the  fox  appear  upon  the  field :  these  move- 
ments were  accompanied  with  a  general  hallooing  and  shouting, 
in  which  the  voice  of  Philly  Wart,  amongst  the  recesses  of  the 
marsh,  was  distinctly  audible.  Kip,  at  the  first  note,  had  run  to 
his  horse,  and  now  came  galloping  past  us,  half  wild  with  delight. 
Mr.  Chub  was  in  a  perfect  ecstasy,  jumping,  flinging  out  his  arms, 
and  vociferating  all  the  technical  cries  of  encouragement  usual 
amongst  the  votaries  of  the  chase.  Even  old  Mr.  Tracy  was 
roused  by  the  vivacity  of  the  scene.  His  eyes  sparkled  and  his 
gestures  became  peculiarly  animated.  All  the  dogs  of  our  train 
had  taken  into  the  swamp,  and  barked  with  a  deafening  clamor 
as  they  pursued  the  track  of  the  hounds,  whose  strong  musical 
notes  were  now  fast  dying  away  in  distance,  as  these  eager  ani- 
mals pursued  their  prey  directly  up  the  stream  for  more  than  a 
mile.  For  a  time,  they  were  even  lost  to  the  ear,  until,  having 
made  another  double,  they  were  heard  retracing  their  steps,  and 
coming  back  to  their  original  starting  point,  as  their  short  and 
sonorous  notes  crowded  upon  the  ear  with  increasing  distinctness. 

At  length,  the  little  animal,  that  had  given  rise  to  all  this  up- 
roar, was  descried  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  swamp,  some  dis- 
tance ahead  of  her  pursuers,  speeding  with  terrified  haste,  to  a 


208  TRIAL     BY     VIEW. 

hole  in  the  bank,  where  she  was  observed  safely  to  accomplish 
her  retreat. 

The  duration  of  this  animating  episode  was  not  above  half  an 
hour  :  and  for  the  greater  portion  of  that  period  we  had  totally 
lost  all  intelligence  of  Wart  and  Swansdown,  but  were  now  greatly 
amused  to  perceive  the  old  lawyer  breaking  out  of  the  cover,  im- 
mediately at  the  spot  where  the  fox  had  taken  to  the  earth. 
And  there  he  stood,  guarding  the  place  against  the  invasion  of 
the  dogs,  who  seemed  to  be  frantic  with  disappointment  at  not 
being  permitted  to  enter  this  entrenchment  of  their  enemy.  By 
whipping,  hallooing  and  scolding,  Philly  succeeded  in  drawing 
them  away ;  and  now,  for  the  first  time  during  this  interval, 
turned  his  attention  to  the  fate  of  his  comrade.  Swansdown  was 
no  where  to  be  seen.  Wart  called  aloud  several  times  without 
receiving  an  answer  ;  and  at  length  the  party  on  our  side,  also, 
began  to  vociferate  the  name  of  the  lost  gentleman.  This  was  no 
sooner  done  than  we  were  surprised  to  receive  an  answer  from  the 
midst  of  the  bushes,  within  ten  paces  of  the  spot  where  we  stood. 
In  one  instant  afterwards,  Mr.  Swansdown  reappeared,  almost 
exactly  at  the  point  where  he  had  first  entered  the  swamp.  His 
plight  was  sadly  changed.  A  thick  coat  of  black  mud  covered 
the  lower  extremities  of  his  pantaloons,  and  his  dress,  in  places, 
was  torn  by  briars  ;  but  as  if  glad  to  be  extricated  from  his  perils, 
on  any  terms,  he  came  forth  with  a  face  of  good  humor,  and 
readily  joined  us  in  the  laugh  that  his  strangely  discomfited  ex- 
terior excited. 

"  Well,"  he  remarked,  "  to  gratify  Mr.  Wart,  1  have  seen  the 
Apple-pie ;  and  I  can  truly  say  that  I  have  enjoyed  more  pleas- 
ure in  my  life,  at  less  cost.  A  fine  figure  I  make  of  it !"  he  ex- 
claimed, pointing  to  his  clothes.  '-  We  had  no  sooner  reached 
what  Mr.  Wart  called  the  bank  of  the  rivulet,  than  those  whelps 
of  dogs  set  up  such  a  hideous  yelling  as  turned  my  excellent 


TRIAL     IJY     VIEW,  *209 

friend,  the  counsellor,  crazy  upon  the  spot ;  and  thereupon  he  set 
ofiF  at  full  speed,  like  an  old  hound  himself,  leaving  me  to  floun- 
der back  or  forward,  as  best  I  might.  I  scarcely  know  what 
course  I  took,  and  when  I  thought  I  had  reached  the  other  side, 
it  seems  I  had  arrived  just  where  I  started.  I  can't  say  I  think 
as  highly  of  Mr.  Wart's  trial  by  the  view,  as  he  does  ! 

We  gave  the  unfortunate  gentleman  all  the  consolation  his 
case  admitted  of ;  and  returning  to  the  ruins  of  the  mill,  there 
took  our  seats  to  await  the  return  of  Mr.  Wart. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  appeared,  followed  by  thj  two  dogs. 
He  had  crossed  from  the  side  on  which  we  left  him,  with  as  little 
concern  as  if  he  had  been  walking  on  the  firmest  ground,  and 
joined  our  company,  more  in  the  guise  of  an  experienced  wood- 
man than  of  a  gentleman  of  the  learned  profession  intent  upon 
disentangling  points  of  law. 

It  may  well  be  supposed  that  the  labors  of  the  day  terminated 
at  this  point.  Our  spirits  had  been  too  much  roused  by  the 
events  of  the  mornino-  to  allow  us  to  sit  down  ao-ain  to  the  busi- 
ness  of  the  lawsuit ;  and  the  uncomfortable  condition  of  Swans- 
down  made  it  necessary  that  he  should,  as  soon  as  possible,  be 
allowed  an  opportunity  to  change  his  dress.  It  was  therefore  in- 
timated by  Mr.  Wart,  that  the  question  of  the  boundary  line 
should  be  adjourned  until  the  next  morning,  when,  he  remarked, 
he  thought  he  should  be  able  to  give  testimony  himself  that 
would  be  material  to  the  cause. 

,        In  accordance  with  this  intimation,  it  was  arranged  that  the 

parties  should  convene  the  next  morning  at  the  Brakes ;  and 

having  determined  upon    this,  old   3Ir.   Tracy  and   Sw^nsdown 

I  mounted  their  horses  and  pursued  their  road  to   the  mansion 

:  house  at  the  Brakes,  which  was  not  above  two  miles  distant. 

The  rest  of  the  party  returned  to  Swallow  Barn. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


MERPcIMENT     AND     SOERIETY, 


It  was  at  a  late  dinner  hour  when  our  party  returned  to  the  man- 
sion, from  the  expedition  of  the  boundary  line.  The  absence  ol 
Mr.  Tracy  and  his  champion  Swansdown,  caused  some  solicitude 
in  the  family,  which,  together  with  the  curiosity  of  the  ladies  to 
hear  all  the  particulars  of  the  day's  adventure,  gave  rise  to  a  mul- 1 
titude  of  inquiries  that  served  to  produce  much  animation  at  the 
dinner  table.  Ned  and  Harvey  detailed  what  they  called  the 
facts,  with  exorbitant  amplification,  and  with  an  assumed  earnest- 
ness, that  baffled  all  attempts  to  arri\e  at  the  truth.  A  great 
deal,  they  affirmed,  was  to  be  said  on  both  sides.  And  then  they 
gave  a  piteous  account  of  Swansdown's  misfortunes  ;  praising  his 
calm  and  dignified  composure,  noth withstanding  he  was  so  torn 
by  brambles,  and  so  disfigured  with  mud,  and  so  frightened  with 
snakes —  " 

"He  was  not  attacked  by  these  reptiles!"  cried  Prudence. i 
with  a  marked  concern.  ; 

"  They  did  not  absolutely  strike  their  fangs  into  him,"  said; 
Harvey ;  "  but  they  reared  up  their  grizzly  heads  at  his  feet,  and 
hissed  hideously  at  him." 

"  And  then  he  was  so  drenched  to  the  very  skin  !"  said  Ned. 

"  Poor  gentleman  !"  exclaimed  Harvey,  "an  he  'scape  a  cold' 


MERRIMENT    AND     SOBRIETY.  211 

I  or  an  ague,  his  friends  should  be  thankful.     Heaven  knows  what 
would  become  of  the  boundary  line,  if  any  thing  were  to  happen 
I  to  him  at  this  critical  juncture  !" 

'•  And  he  looked  so  forlorn  !"  continued  Ned. 
"  And  so  interesting  !"  said  Harvey,  "  with  the  black  mud  up 
to  his  knees,  and  his  white  pocket-handkerchief  up  to  his  face, 
wiping  away  the  blood  where  the  briars  had  made  free  with  his 
chin." 

'•  Don't  you  believe  them,  aunt  Pru  !"  cried  Rip.  "  Mr. 
Swansdown  was  laughing  all  the  time, — for  we  had  a  most  an 
elegant  fox-hunt,  only  it  was  all  in  the  swamp,  and  the  bushes 
would  not  let  us  see  any  thing  !" 

"  After  all  then,  cousin  Harvey,"  said  Catharine,  '•  tell  us 
seriously  how  this  famous  arbitration  has  ended." 

'•  Most  appropriately,"  said  Harvey.  "  About  forty  years 
ago,  the  law  suit  began  with  the  quest  of  a  wild-goose,  and,  having 
;  jexercised  the  ingenuity  of  all  the  low-country  lawyers  in  succes- 
]  jsion,  during  all  this  time,  it  has  now  turned  into  a  fox-chase,  and 
I  ended  by  earthing  a  poor  little  harmless  quadruped,  precisely  at 
1  ithe  place  of  beginning." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Philly  Wart,  laughing,  "  the  hole  was  as 
•   Qearly  as  possible  at  the  commencement  of  the  first  line  laid  off 
in  the  survey  of  the  mill-dam.     But,  Miss  Tracy,"  he  continued, 
j  ['  you  must  not  suppose  that  there  was  any  design  on  our  part  in 
I   butting  up  the  fox  this  morning.     This  is  not  the  time  of  the 
'vear  for  such  sport,  because  these  animals  have  all  young  families 
to  take  care  of,  and  it  is  deemed  cruel  to  disturb  them  :  but  my 
logs  happened  to  fall  upon  the  trail  of  madam,  as  she  was  look- 
ing out  for  her  breakfast.     And  so,  off  they  went,  Miss  Catha- 
i-Ine,  making  excellent  music.     It  was  a  cunning  thing  for  the 
little  animal,  too,  to  take  right  up   the  swamp :  for,  besides  the 
^ind  being  in  that  direction, — which  you  know  would  carry  the 


212  MERRIMENT     AND     SOBRIETY 

scent  away  from  the  dogs. — she  had  the  water  to  wash  away  the 
foot-prints ;  and,  in  addition  to  this,  she  was  leading  them  off,  as  fast 
as  she  could,  from  her  den,  which  is  a  motherly  trick  these  creatures 
have.  But,  you  see.  Miss  Tracy,  the  more  she  ran  the  warmer 
she  got ;  and  so,  she  left  her  scent  upon  the  bushes  and  brambles. 
If  you  could  have  seen  the  dogs,  you  would  have  found  them  with 
their  noses  up,  as  unconcerned  as  if  they  had  had  her  in  view  all 
the  time.  Presently,  she  got  the  foot  of  them  so  far,  that  she 
found  she  could  get  back  to  her  nest  before  they  could  come  up ; 
and  so,  she  doubled  beautifully  down  the  swamp  again,  and 
straight  to  her  hole,  as  fast  as  her  legs  could  carry  her.  I  knew 
what  her  trick  was  from  the  first ;  and  was,  therefo]*e,  on  the  look- 
out, which  enabled  me  to  reach  her  just  as  she  entered  it;  aud 
there  I  defended  her  gallantly  against  the  invasion  of  her  ene- 
mies." 

"  For  which  you  deserve  the  thanks  of  all  mothers,  Mr.  Wart," 
said  my  cousin  Lucretia. 

"  And  of  all  sportsmen,  too,"  said  Harvey  Riggs. 

"  For  a  fox  that  is  hunted  and  runs  away, 
May  live  to  be  hunted  another  day." 

Philly  Wart  had  become  exceedingly  animated  in  the  course 
of  the  recital  above  detailed,  and  notwithstanding  it  was  ludi- 
crously out  of  place,  considering  the  person  to  whom  it  was  ad-, 
dressed,  Philly  was  too  full  of  his  subject  to  let  it  drop.  His; 
description  was*  accompanied  by  a  vivacious  and  expressive  ges- 
ticulation, that  prevented  him  from  eating  his  dinner  ;  and  Catha-; 
rine  had  become  so  much  amused  with  his  manner,  that  she 
listened  with  a  marked  approbation,  and  encouraged  him  to  pro-; 
ceed,  by  frequent  nods  of  her  head. 

'  It  is  quite  lawful  and  customary,  Miss  Tracy,"  continued' 
the  counsellor,  "  to  hunt  young  foxes  at  this   season,  at  moon 
light;  and  it  is  a  fine  sport.  T  a.ssure  you  !     If  y<Hi  were  to  ge<' 


MERRIMENT    AND     SOBRIETY.  213 

on  your  horse  to-night,  about  twelve, — for  we  shall  have  a  bright 
moon  by  that  hour, — and  ride  over  to  the  old  mill-dam,  and  take 
my  two  dogs  with  you,  you  would  be  sure  to  get  two  or  three  of 
the  cubs  on  foot  almost  immediately,  and  the  mother  besides ; 
and  then  you  might  take  a  seat  upon  the  rider  of  a  fence,  with 
your  great  coat  well  wrapped  about  you,  and  your  hands  in  your 
pookets,  and  see  a  fine  run.  For,  at  this  time  of  year,  they 
(especially  the  young  ones.)  won't  run  far  from  the  nest ;  but  they 
ire  apt  to  play  in  circles  round  it,  which  gives  you  a  chance,  in  a 
jlear  moonlight,  to  see  them  twenty  times  in  an  hour.  And  then, 
when  they  get  tired.  Miss  Tracy,  they  have  only  to  pop  into  the 
lest,  and  there  they  are  as  snug  as  you  could  wish  them !" 

"  I  have  read,"  said  Catharine,  '•  of  ladies  indulging  in  the 
iports  of  the  chase ;  but  it  would  be  a  great  novelty,  Mr.  Wart, 
;o  find  one  of  our  sex  pursuing  such  a  pastime  alone,  on  ^he  bor- 
lers  gf  a  desolate  marsh,  at  midnight,  and  seated,  as  you  propose, 
m  the  top-rail  of  a  fence,  with  her  hands  in  her  pockets  !" 

Here  followed  a  general  laugh  from  the  company. 

"  To  make  the  picture  complete,"  said  Harvey  Riggs,  "  cou- 
in  Kate,  you  should  have  a  scant  mantle  of  scarlet,  and  a  pipe 
Q  your  mouth." 

'•  And  a  broom-stick,  I  suppose  you  would  say,  cousin  Har- 
'ey,  instead  of  a  pony,"  added  Catharine. 

"  When  I  said  you.  Miss  Tracy,"  said  the  counsellor,  smiling, 
I  meant  Ned  Hazard  here  and  his  friends,  who  profess  to  be 
|ond  of  manly  exercises." 

"  I  profess,"  said  Ned,  "  a  sovereign  aversion  to  agues,  and 
n  especial  proclivity  to  the  comforts  of  a  warm  bed." 

Towards  the  hour  of  sunset  the  ladies  from  the  Brakes  were 
i»reparing  to  return  home,  and,  as  the  arrangements  for  the  fol- 
lowing day  contemplated  a  meeting  at  Mr.  Tracy's,  we  promised 
0  assemble  there  at  an  early  hour.     Prudence  had  yielded  to  the 


214  MERRIMENT    AND     SOBRIETY. 

entreaties  of  Catharine  and  Bel  to  accompany  them  that  evenin|: 
and  a  horse  was  accordingly  brought  to  the  door  for  her.  Qui 
guests,  with  this  addition,  soon  afterwards  left  Swallow  Barn. 

When  we  had  concluded  our  evening  repast, — that  substai: 
tial  country  meal  which  it  would  be  altogether  inadequate  to  cal 
by  the  feeble,  but  customary  name  of  tea — the  pleasant  chang 
wrought  upon  the  atmosphere  by  the  dew,  which  in  the  lo-W' 
country,  at  this  season,  falls  heavily  after  night,  had,  as  usual 
brought  the  inmates  of  the  house  to  the  doors.     Mr.  "Wart  am 
Frank  Meriwether  had  taken  their  seats  in  the  porch;  and  here' 
dismissing  the  tone  of  levity  with  which  the  events  of  the  day. 
had  been  conducted,  they  fell  into  a  grave  conference  upon  sun. 
dry  matters  of  public  concern.     The  rest  of  us  sat  quietly  listen 
ing  to  the  conversation,  which  became  interesting  from  the  sen 
sible  and  shrewd  character  of  the  interlocutors.     Philly  Wart 
nothwithstanding  the  mixture  of  jest  and  almost  frivolity,  that 
during  the  day,  had  shown  itself  in  his  demeanor,  now  cxhibitec 
the  thought  and  reflection  of  one  versed  in  the  secrets  of  his  na 
ture,  and  that  keen  insight  into  the  merits  of  men  and  their  ac 
tions,  that  can  only  be  gained  by  extensive  intercourse  with  tht 
world.     His  remarks  had  a  strong  flavor  of  originality,  and  al- 
though now  and  then  brought  to  the  verge  of  the  ludicrous  by  a 
rash  and  unsuccessful  attempt  to  be  figurative,  they  were,  never-' 
Cheless,  pithy  and  forcibly  illustrative  of  his  subject.      Meri-i 
wether,  with  less  pretensions  to  a  knowledge  of  men,  was  calm,: 
philosophical  and  benevolent ;  his  character  principally  manifest-: 
ing  itself  in  certain  kindly  prejudices,  and  in  a  tone  of  observa-; 
tion,  which,  in  reference  to  political  conclusions,  might  be  said  to' 
be  even  desponding.     Frank  has  never  found  the  actions  of  those! 
who  administer  our  government  squaring  with  that  lofty  virtue  j 
which  the  excellence  of  liis  own  principles  has  taught  him  to  ex*! 
act  from  all  men  wlio  aspire  to  control  tlie  interests  of  society  ; 


MERRIMENT     AND     SOBRIETY.  215 

In  fact,  he  speaks  like  an  ancient  stoic,  removed  from  all  am- 

'>■  ibition  to  figure  on  the  theatre  of  life,  and  quietly  observing  the 

tumult  of  affairs  from  a  position  too  distant  to  be  reached  by  the 

*  isordid  passions  that  sway  the  multitude ;  or,  in  other  words,  he 

i  ! discourses  like  an  easy  and  cultivated  country-gentleman. 

It  was  in  summing  up  a  train  of  reflections,  in  this  temper, 
upon  the  general  aspect  of  the  great  political  movements  of  the 
day,  that  he  concluded — as  we  broke  up  our  party — 

"  Well,  Mr.  "Wart,  you  think  better  of  these  things  than  I  do ; 
but,  to  my  mind,  there  is  no  satisfaction  in  this  survey.  Look 
which  way  I  ma}^,  to  the  one  side  or  to  the  other,  to  me  it  seems 
all  equally  vile  and  contemptible  ;  and  so,  good  night  J" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE     OLD     SCHOOL. 


I  AROSE  on  the  following  morning  soon  after  day-light,  and  was 
quietly  descending  the  staircase  when  I  was  saluted  by  the  voices 
of  Lucy  and  Vic,  who  at  this  early  hour  were  equipped  for  the 
day.  They  were  looking  out  with  some  eagerness  at  the  clouds. 
A  heavy  rain  had  fallen  during  the  night,  but  the  eastern  hori- 
zon was  nevertheless  tinted  with  the  rosy  flush  of  morning,  and 
the  indications  were  favorable  to  the  dispersion  of  the  few  black 
vapors  that  still  rolled  across  the  heavens.  My  little  cousins 
soon  made  me  acquainted  with  the  cause  of  their  early  appear- 
ance. They  were  to  accompany  us  to  the  Brakes,  and  had 
planned  it  to  ask  me  to  take  a  seat  with  them  in  the  carriage, 
telling  me,  that  if  I  did  not  go  with  them  they  would  be  obliged 
to  take  Rip,  which,  as  Vic  said,  "  Rip  never  did  like." 

I  assented  heartily  to  their  proposal ;  and  upon  this  they  fell 
to  dancing  round  me,  and  amusing  me  with  a  great  deal  of  prat- 
tle. They  insisted  upon  my  going  with  them  to  the  stable  yard, 
"just  to  make  sure  that  uncle  Carey  was  cleaning  up  the  car- 
riage, and  getting  ready."  Here  we  found  the  old  menial  with  a 
bucket  of  water  and  sponge,  busily  employed  in  the  task  the  lit- 
tle girls  had  coaxed  him  to  perform.  He  was  affectionately 
obliging  to  his  young  mistresses,  and  spoke  to  them  in  a  tone 


THE     OLD     SCHOOL.  217 

that  showed  how  largely  he  partook  of  the  family  interest  in 
them,  although  it  was  sufficiently  apparent  that  he  deferred  but 
little  to  their  authority.  ^ 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Carey  brought  the  coach  to 
the  door.  It  was  a  capacious  old  vehicle,  that  had  known  better 
days,  being  somewhat  faded  in  its  furniture,  and  still  clothed  with 
its  original  cover  of  yellow  oil-cloth,  of  which,  I  suppose,  it  had 
lever  been  stripped,  although  now  arrived  at  the  latter  stage  of 
ts  existence.  The  plainness  of  this  part  of  the  equipage  was 
Lompensated  in  a  pair  of  high-mettled,  full-blooded  chestnut 
dorses,  in  excellent  keeping,  but  rather  light  in  comparison  with 
ihe  size  of  the  coach  to  which  they  were  harnessed. 

Meriwether  having  unexpectedly  received  intelligence  that 
•endered  his  presence  necessary  at  a  remote  part  of  the  farm, 
.yas  obliged  to  forego  his  visit  to  the  Brakes ;  and  Ned  was  ac- 
cordingly commissioned  by  him  to  make  his  excuses  and  act  as 
lis  representative.  This  matter  being  arranged,  and  all  things 
oeing  in  readiness  for  our  departure,  Mr.  Wart,  attended  by  Ned 
Hazard  and  Rip,  set  out  on  horseback ;  whilst  the  two  little 
^irls  and  myself  took  our  seats  in  the  carriage,  and  old  Carey, 
nounting  the  box,  put  off  his  horses  at  a  brisk  speed. 

As  we  ascended  the  hill,  and  came  in  full  view  of  the  man- 
ion  house  at  the  Brakes,  we  could  observe  Mr.  Tracy  walking 
>ackward  and  forward  with  his  arms  behind  him,  on  a  level  plat 
kt  the  door  :  and  as  soon  as  our  party  attracted  his  attention,  he 
^•as  seen  to  halt,  with  his  hat  raised  off  his  head,  and  held  in  such. 
,  manner  as  to  shield  his  eyes  from  the  sun,  until  we  got  near 
nough  for  recognition.  There  was  an  unwonted  alacrity  in  his 
alutations :  and  he  helped  Lucy  and  Vic  from  the  carriage  him- 
elf,  with  a  gallantry  that  showed  the  cheerful  state  of  his  feel- 
ngs,  not  forgetting  to  take  a  kiss  from  each  as  he  handed  them 

0  the  door. 

10 


218  THE     OLD     SCHOOL. 

When  we  entered  the  -  house,  Harvey  Riggs  and  Bel  were 
observed  walking  leisurely  up  the  lawn,  from  the  direction  of  the 
river.  At  a  i^arlor  window  sat  Catharine  and  Prudence,  in  ar 
absorbing  conversation  with  Mr.  Swansdown,  who  was  apparent!} 
regaling  his  interested  auditors  with  a  narrative  of  deep  attraction 
and  perhaps  it  may  have  been  an  idle  preconception  of  mine,  bul 
I  thought  Prudence,  especially,  listened  with  a  more  intelligeni 
and  changeful  sympathy  than  was  her  wont.  What  was  the  topic. 
and  in  what  language  urged,  I  am  altogether  ignorant ;  but  to  mj 
prejudiced  vision  it  seemed  that  either  the  story  or  the  speaker 
had  charmed  "  never  so  wisely." 

In  describing  the  mansion  house  at  the  Brakes,  in  a  formei 
chapter,  I  have  informed  my  reader  that  it  is  without  architect- 
ural embellishment.  One  front  faces  the  river,  from  which  it  is 
separated  by  a  long,  sloping,  and  unshaded  hill.  At  the  foot  ol 
this  slope  the  bank  of  the  river  is  some  eight  or  ten  feet  above 
the  water,  and  is  clothed  with  a  screen  of  native  shrubbery.  The 
road  winds  round  the  hill  from  the  river,  so  as  to  approach  the 
house  on  the  opposite  side.  This  front  of  the  dwelling  differs 
widely  from  that  I  have  described.  Its  plainness  is  relieved  by 
a  portico  supported  by  stuccoed  columns,  massive  and  rough,  and 
over  which  the  second  story  of  the  building  projects,  so  as  to  form 
a  small  apartment  that  has  rather  a  grotesque  appearance, — as  it 
may  be  said  to  resemble  a  box  perched  upon  a  four-legged  stool. 
This  superstructure  is  built  of  wood  painted  blue,  though  a  good 
deal  weather-beaten ;  and  it  is  illustrated  with  a  large  bow- 
window  in  the  front,  surrounded  with  a  heavy  white  cornice 
filled  with  modillions  and  other  old-fashioned  ornaments:  it" 
strikes  the  observer  as  an  appendage  to  the  edifice  of  questiona- 
ble utility,  and  as  somewhat  incongruous  with  the  prevailing  sim- 
plicity that  characterizes  the  exterior  of  the  mansion.  A  range 
of  offices,  old,  and  interpolated  with  modern  additions,  sweeps 


THE   OLD   SCHOOL.  219 

rectangularly  along  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  shows  the  ample 
provision  made  for  the  comforts  of  solid  housekeeping.  The 
whole  of  this  quarter  is  thickly  embowered  with  trees,  amongst 
which  the  line  of  lombardy  poplars,  that  I  have  before  had  occa- 
sion to  notice,  is  marshalled  along  the  avenue,  from  the  mansion 
i  downwards,  like  a  gigantic  array  of  sylvan  grenadiers.  Over  all 
!thc  grounds  in  the  vicinity  of  the  buildings  an  air  of  neatness 
prevails,  even  to  an  extent  that  might  be  called  pedantic. 

The  interior  of  the  house  is  in  full  contrast  with  i;g  outward 
appearance,  and  shows  the  relics  of  a  costly  grandeur.  The  rooms 
are  large,  and  decorated  with  a  profusion  of  wood-work,  chiselled 
into  the  gorgeous  forms  of  ancient  pomp.  The  doors  have  huge 
pediments  above  them  with  figures  carved  upon  the  entablatures  ; 
garlands  of  roses,  as  stiff  as  petrifactions,  are  moulded,  with  a 
formal  grace,  upon  the  jambs  of  the  window-frames ;  and  the 
mantel-pieces  are  thickly  embossed  with  odd  little  mythological 
|monst«ers,  as  various  as  the  metamorj^hoses  of  Ovid.  The  walls 
are  enriched  with  a  fretted  cornice,  in  the  frieze  of  which  cupids, 
{satyrs  and  fauns  are  taking  hands,  and  seem  to  be  dancing  country 
dances  through  thickets  of  nondescript  vegetables.  The  fire- 
places are  noble  monuments  of  ancient  hospitality,  stately  and 
vast,  and  on  either  side  of  them  are  deep  recesses,  surmounted 
by  ornamented  arches,  and  lighted  by  windows  that  look  out 
from  the  gable-ends  of  the  building. 

The  furniture  of  these  apartments  retains  the  vestiges  of 
|a  corresponding  splendor.  The  tables  seem  to  have  turned  into 
liron  from  age,  and  are  supported  upon  huge,  crooked  legs ;  the 
ichairs,  sofas,  firescreens,  and  other  articles  of  embellishment, 
though  damaged  by  time,  still  afford  glimpses  of  the  lacker  and 
varnish  that  gave  effulgence  to  their  days  of  glory.  Amongst 
these  remnants  of  the  old  time  I  recognized,  with  an  affectionate 
jinterest,  two  elliptical   mirrgrs,^ — no  doubt   the  marvel  of  the 


220  THE     OLD     SCHOOL. 

country  when  tliey  first  reached  this  strand, — set  in  frames  of 
tarnished  gilt,  and  curiously  carved  into  droll  resemblances  of 
twisted  serpents,  each  swallowing  his  own  tail. 

I  must  return  from  this  digression  to  continue  my  narrative 
of  the  important  affair  that  had  now  brought  us  to  the  Brakes. 

From  an  early  hour,  Mr.  Tracy  had  been  in  a  state  of 
agitated  spirits  with  the  thoughts  of  the  arbitration.  Although 
his  zeal  had  latterly  subsided,  it  had  been  waked  up  by  the 
recent  movements,  like  a  snake  at  the  return  of  spring.  The 
old  gentleman  rises  from  his  bed,  at  all  seasons,  with  the  dawn 
of  day  ;  but  this  morning  he  was  observed  to  make  an  unusual 
stir.  It  was  remarked  that  his  dress  was  even  more  scrupulously 
adjusted  than  ordinarily ;  the  ruffles  of  his  sleeves  protruded 
over  his  hands  with  a  more  pregnant  strut ;  his  cravat  was 
drawn,  if  possible,  tighter  round  his  neck ;  and  his  silvery  hair 
was  combed  back  into  the  small,  taper  cue  that  played  upon  his 
cape,  with  a  sleekness  that  indicated  more  minute  attention  to 
personal  decoration  than  the  family  were  accustomed  to  expect. 
He  is  the  very  picture  of  a  man  for  a  law-suit.  His  tall  figure 
and  care-worn  face  have  such  an  emaciated  air  \  and  when  to  this 
is  added  the  impression  made  by  his  tight,  brown,  kerseymere  i 
small-clothes,  and  his  long,  stocking-like  boots,  buttoned  by  straps  • 
to  his  knees,  and  the  peculiar  capacity  of  stride  which  this  costume  : 
discloses,  we  have  the  personation  of  a  man  eminently  calculated  1 
to  face  the  biting  blast  of  the  law,  or  to  worm  through  the  intri- 
cacies of  a  tangled  and  long-winded  suit,  with  the  least  possible 
personal  obstruction. 

Harvey  Riggs  told  us  that  Mr.  Tracy  had  scarcely  eaten  any  ; 
breakfast,  being  in  that  fidgety  state  of  mind  that  takes  away  the 
the  appetite ;  and,  what  was  a  little  out  of  his  common  behavior, 
he  was  even  jocose  upon  the  existing  relations  betwixt  himself 
and  Meriwether.     It  was  also  observable  that,  notwithstanding 


riii:    OLD    SCHOOL.  221 

this  elevation  of  .spirits,  he  occasionally  broke  out  into  a  slight 
expression  of  peevishness  when  any  thing  balked  his  humor.  It 
fell  upon  Ned  Hazard  to  encounter  one  of  those  passing  rebukes, 
as  will  appear  in  the  dialogue  I  am  about  to  detail. 

Mr.  Tracy  has  reached  that  age  at  which  old  persons  lose  sight 
of  the  true  relations  of  society.  He  considers  all  men,  not  yet 
j  rrived  at  middle  age.  as  mere  hair-brained  boys  ;  and  does  not 
scruple,  especially  in  matters  of  business,  to  treat  them  accord- 
ingly. I  believe  he  is  of  opinion  that  Frank  Meriwether  himself 
has  scarcely  attained  to  manhood.  But  as  for  Ned  Hazard,  or 
even  Harvey  lliggs,  he  thinks  them  not  yet  out  of  their  teens. 
This  temper  is  apparent  when  the  old  gentleman  experiences  any 
contradiction;  for  he  is  then  apt  to  become  dogmatic  and  peremp- 
tory, and  sometimes  a  little  harsh.  But  he  likes  Ned  very  well ; 
and  frequently,  when  he  is  in  good  humor,  laughs  at  his  pranks, 
until  the  tears  come  into  his  eyes,  and  roll  over  his  dry  cheeks, 
like  vinegar  trickling  over  a  piece  of  leather. 

Now  it  happens  that  Ned  stands  precisely  in  that  category 
which  renders  him  nervously  solicitous  to  appear  well  in  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Tracy.  He  is  sadly  aware  that  Bel's  father  has  taken  up 
an  idea  that  he  is  a  thoughtless,  unballasted  youth,  and  utterly 
deficient  in  those  thrifty  business-habits  which  are  most  pleasing 
to  the  contemplation  of  age ;  and  he  is  therefore  perpetually 
making  awkward  attempts  to  produce  a  different  opinion.  Myl 
reader  has  perhaps  already  had  occasion  to  remark  that  Ned's 
character  is  utterly  inauspicious  to  the  management  of  such  a 
matter.  He  is  purblind  to  all  the  consequences  of  his  own  con- 
duct, and  as  little  calculated  to  play  the  politician  as  a  child. 

When  tfic  gentlemen  of  our  party  had  gathered  together,  Mr. 
Tracy  was  anxious  that  no  time  should  be  lost  to  the  prejudice  of 
the  principal  concern  of  our  meeting  ;  and  having  announced  this, 
he  was  approached  by  Ned,  who,  with  a  solemn  face, — endeavoring 


222  THE     OLD     SCHOOL 


I 


to  assume  as  much  of  the  look  of  a  negotiator  as  he  was  able, — 
made  a  formal  communication  of  the  cause  of  Meriwether's  ab- 
sence, and  of  the  arrangement  that  he  himself  was  to  appear  as 
the  representative  of  Swallow  Barn.  Mr.  Tracy  did  not  like  it ; 
he  could  not  imagine  how  any  domestic  engagement  could  claim 
precedence  over  one  so  important  as  this.  He  was  on  the  verge 
of  saying  so  ;  but,  as  if  struck  with  a  sudden  thought,  he  paused, 
stared  at  Ned,  without  uttering  a  word,  grasped  his  nether  lip 
with  his  left  hand,  and  fell  into  a  study.  Ned  stood  by,  looking 
as  respectfully  as  he  could.  The  conclusion  was  favorable  ;  for 
the  old  gentleman  brightened  up,  and  delivered  himself,  with  some 
hesitation,  pretty  much  in  this  way : — 

"  Well,  well !  It  is  all  right  that  you  should  give  your  atten- 
tion to  this  matter.  We  old  folks  labor  altogether  for  the  young ; 
and  they  that  come  after  us  must  live  and  learn.  I  wish  I  could 
make  my  B-alph  feel  the  interest  he  ought  to  take  in  this  sub- 
ject ;  but  he  is  wayward,  and  plays  his  own  game.  As  to  you, 
Mr.  Hazard,  although  you  are  young  and  thoughtless,  and  not  of 
an  age  to  take  care  of  your  property,  tliis  may  be  said  to  be  your 
own  case,  sir,  seeing  that  you  are  the  heir  to  Swallow  Barn  under 
your  father's  will.  And  I  am  told  Mr.  Meriwether  is  clearing 
the  track  for  you  ;  he  is  wiping  off  the  incumbrances.  So  it  is 
your  own  case  you  have  to  look  after." 

"  For  my  part,  Mr.  Tracy,"  replied  Ned,  with  a  timid  defer- 
ence, and  with  a  singular  want  of  shrewdness,  considering  the 
person  he  addressed,  "  I  have  never  seen  the  use  of  this  contro- 
versy. Our  family  ought  to  have  given  up  to  you,  rather  thau 
trouble  the  courts  with  such  an  inconsiderable  matter.  I  have 
always  expressed  my  willingness  to  end  the  affair  by  making  you 
a  deed." 

"  Young  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Tracy,  rather  briskly,  and 
looking  with  an  air  of  surprise   at  Ned,  '•  you  reckon  without 


THE    OLD     SCHOOL.  223 

your  host  if  you  consider  this  a  matter  of  acres  at  all.  Your 
father,  sir,  and  I  had  an  honest  difference  of  opinion ;  he  thought 
he  was  right ;  I  thought  I  was ;  and  we  both  knew  that  the  other 
would  expend  twenty  times  the  value  of  the  land,  before  he  would 
take  an  inch  of  it  but  as  a  matter  of  right.  I  am  not  accustomed 
to  take  up  or  put  down  opinions  upon  light  grounds.  In  such 
matters  I  do  not  count  the  cost.     A  deed,  sir  !" — 

'- 1  beg  pardon,"  replied  Ned. confusedly,  and  alarmed  by  this 
flash  of  temper,  which  set  him,  like  a  boy  who  has  mistaken  ■  the 
mood  of  his  master,  to  a  speedy  recantation.  "  You  mistook  my 
meaning, — I  meant  to  say — " 

'•  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  the  old  gentleman,  relapsing  into  the 
opposite  tone  of  kindness,  as  if  aware  that  his  feelings  had  been 
unnecessarily  roused,  "  so  I  suppose,  my  young  friend  !  You 
are  but  a  novice  in  the  world  ;  but  you  know  Isaac  Tracy  well 
enough  to  be  quite  certain  that  he  does  not  fling  away  five  hun- 
dred pounds, — aye,  twice  five  hundred, — to  maintain  his  title  to 
a  bed  of  splatterdocks,  unless  there  was  something  at  the  bottom 
of  the  dispute  that  belonged  to  his  character." 

This  remark  was  concluded  with  an  emotion  that  amounted 
almost  to  a  laugh  ;  and  so  completely  reassured  Ned,  as  to  em- 
bolden him  to  venture  upon  a  joke. 

"  Such  character,"  said  Ned,  "  is  like  the  goose  in  the  fable  ; 
it  lays  golden  eggs." 

'•  And  there  is  nothing  in  it  when  you  cut  it  up,  Mr.  Edward, 
that  is  what  you  were  going  to  say,"  added  the  old  gentleman, 
greatly  amused  with  the  remark.  "  You  are  a  facetious  young 
gentleman.  You  say  pretty  sharp  things  now  and  then,  Ed- 
ward, and  don't  spare  such  old  codgers  as  I,  ha,  ha !"  he  con- 
tinued, laughing,  and  tapping  Ned  familiarly  on  the  back. 
"  Why,  what  a  plague  !  Here  we  are  wasting  our  time  with  this 
merry  Ned  Hazard,  when  we  ought  to  be  at  our  business.     Dogs 


224  THE     OLD     SCHOOL. 

take  you,  for  a  jester  as  you  are  !"  he  exclaimed,  jogging  Ned 
with  his  elbow.  "  You  will  trick  us  out  of  our  proper  vocation 
with  a  laugh,  would  ye  !  Harvey,  call  Mr.  Swausdown  from  tho 
parlor  :  tell  him  he  must  leave  the  women ;  we  have  our  hands 
full." 

After  this  burst  from  the  old  gentleman,  he  opened  a  door 
that  admitted  us  to  a  small  room  which  he  calls  his  study.  It  is 
an  inner  shrine  that  is  deemed  a  prohibited  spot  to  the  mem- 
bers of  the  household,  as  the  key  of  it  is  generally  carried  in  Mr. 
Tracy's  own  pocket.  This  apartment  is  so  characteristic  of  its 
inhabitant,  that  I  must  take  advantage  of  my  introduction  to  it, 
to  make  my  reader  acquainted  with  its  general  appearance. 

Some  heavy  volumes  in  quarto,  such  as  constituted  the  guise 
in  which  the  best  authors  of  Queen  Anne's  time  were  accustomed 
to  be  exhibited  to  the  public,  were  scattered  over  a  range  of 
shelves  that  occupied  one  side  of  the  room.  There  was  one  large 
window  only  to  the  apartment,  through  which  the  sun  flung  a 
broad  light,  that  served  to  heighten  the  forlorn  impression  made 
by  the  obsolete  and  almost  shabby  air  of  the  furniture  ;  on  the 
sill  of  this  window  a  collection  of  pods  and  garden  seeds  were 
laid  out  to  be  dried.  In  another  quarter  of  the  room,  a  shelf 
was  appropriated  to  the  accommodation  of  a  motley  assemblage 
of  old  iron,  of  which  the  principal  pieces  were  rusty  hinges,  bolts, 
screws,  bridle-bits,  stirrups,  and  fragments  of  agricultural  imple- 
ments ;  and  upon  the  floor,  below  these,  stood  a  chest  of  tools. 
The  fireplace  had  a  ragged  appearance,  being  strewed  with  scraps 
of  paper  and  other  rubbish,  and  upon  one  side  of  it  was  placed  an 
old-fashioned  secretary,  with  a  lid  like  the  roof  of  a  house.  One 
or  two  paintings,  too  obscure  to  be  guessed  at,  hung  over  the 
mantel-piece  ;  and  on  the  wall  near  the  door,  was  suspended  an 
almost  illegible  map  of  Virginia.  A  small  table  was  opened  out 
in  the   middle  of  the  floor,  and  provided  with  a  writing  appara- 


THE     OLD     t^^JIIOOL.  225 

IS ;  around  tliis  table  were  three  or  four  broad,  high-backed 
lahogany  chairs,  with  faded  crimson  seats  stuck  round  with  brass 
lils.  The  cobwebs  on  \arious  parts  of  the  walls,  and  the  ne- 
iected  aspect  of  the  room,  showed  it  to  be  an  apartment  not 
luch  resorted  to  or  used  by  the  old  gentleman,  except  as  a  mere 
jlace  of  deposit  for  lumber. 

When  Mr.  Swansdown,  at  Harvey's  summons,  made  his  ap- 
earance,  our  friend  Philly  Wart  indulged  in  some  little  raillery 
pon  the  mischances  of  the  day  before,  and  accused  the  sentimen- 
d  gentleman  of  deserting  him  ;  but  finding  old  Mr.  Tracy  al- 
3ady  provided  with  a  mass  of  documents,  and  standing  ready, 
ith  spectacles  on  nose,  to  plunge  into  the  middle  of  affairs,  the 
iveral  parties  sat  down  and  addressed  themselves  to  their  tasks 
ke  men  determined  to  make  an  end  of  matters.  Ned  put  on  a 
ircical  gravity,  and  began  to  rummage  over  the  papers,  as  if  he 
as  thoroughly  acquainted  with  every  document  in  the  bundle, 
ntil  Mr.  Tracy,  raising  his  glasses  up  to  his  forehead,  asked 
im,  with  a  fretful  earnestness,  what  he  was  in  search  of.  This 
imple  interrogatory,  and  the  look  that  accompanied  it,  so  discon- 
erted  the  representative  of  Swallow  Barn,  that  he  was  obliged 
3  rejjly,  for  lack  of  something  better  to  say,  that  '•  he  was  look- 
ag  for  nothing  in  particular  !" 

"  I  thought  so,  by  your  haste,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  as  he 
Tought  his  spectacles  back  to  their  original  position.  Ned,  to 
onceal  his  confusion,  picked  up  a  large  sheet  of  parchment,  and 
et  about  reading  its  contents  regularly  through  from  the  begin- 
ning- 

As  soon  as  we  saw  this  little  wittenagemote  fairly  at  work 
jvith  the  lawsuit,  Harvey  and  myself  quietly  stole  away,  not, 
liowever,  without  receiving  a  glance  from  Ned  Hazard,  who  turned 
jiis  head  and  gave  us  a  look  of  sly  perplexity  as  we  disappeared 
lit  the  door. 

10* 


226  THE     OLD     SCHOOL. 

The  ladies  had  retired  to  their  rooms.  Ralph  had  takei 
away  our  young  cavalier  Rip  to  the  river  ;  and  being  thus  left  tt 
ourselves,  Harvey  and  I  sat  down  at  the  front  door,  attracted  b; 
the  commanding  view  of  the  scenery,  and  the  appearance  of  ; 
large  ship  that,  with  all  her  canvas  spread,  was  winging  her  wa; 
round  the  headlands  of  the  James  River,  towards  the  Atlantic. 

In  this  situation,  Harvey  gave  me  the  particulars  of  th 
scene  I  am  about  to  describe  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


THE     RAKING     HAWK, 


I  SAID  that  when  we  arrived  at  The  Brakes,  Bel  and  Harvey 
Riggs  were  seen  approaching  the  house  from  a  distance.  The 
morning  was  still  cool  from  the  evaporation  of  the  dew  before  the 
rays  of  the  sun.  A  pleasant  breeze  swept  across  the  lawn  from 
the  direction  of  the  river.  Bel  was  leaning  upon  Harvey's  arm 
in  earnest  conversation  ;  her  face  shaded  by  a  kind  of  hood^of 
green  silk,  and  her  dress  such  as  ladies  wear  in  the  earlier  part  of 
ithe  day,  before  they  perform  the  more  studied  labors  of  the  toi- 
tlet ;  it  was  of  a  light  fabric,  neatly  fitted  to  her  person.  Exer- 
cise had  thrown  a  healthy  hue  over  her  cheek ;  and  the  fresh 
breeze  fluttering  amongst  the  folds  of  her  dress  imparted  an  idea 
of  personal  comfort  that  accorded  with  the  coolness  of  the  cos- 
tume, and  the  blooming  countenance  of  its  wearer.  It  did  not 
escape  my  notice,  that  her  foot,  which  is  exceedingly  well  shaped, 
appeared  to  great  advantage  in  an  accurately  fitted  shoe,  bound 
to  her  ankle  with  black  ribbons  laced  across  stockings  of  spotless 
white.  Her  exterior  was  altogether  remarkable  for  a  becoming 
simplicity  of  attire,  and  seemed  to  speak  that  purity  of  taste 
which  is  the  most  beautiful  and  attractive  quality  in  the  charac- 
ter of  a  woman. 

I  must  admonish  my  reader  that,  as  my  design  in  this  work 


228  THE     RAKING     HAWK. 

has  been  simply  to  paint  in  true  colors  the  scenes  of  domestic 
life  as  I  have  found  them  in  Virginia,  I  do  not  scruple  to  record 
whatever  has  interested  me  ;  and  if,  perchance,  my  story  should 
not  advance  according  to  the  regular  rules  of  historico-dramatic 
composition  to  its  proper  conclusion,  I  do  not  hold  myself  ac- 
countable for  any  misadventure  on  that  score.  I  sketch  with  a 
careless  hand ;  and  must  leave  the  interest  I  excite — if  such  a 
thing  may  be — to  the  due  development  of  the  facts  as  they  come 
within  my  knowledge.  For  the  present,  I  have  to  tell  what 
Harvey  Riggs  and  Bel  had  been  concerning  themselves  about, 
before  we  met  them  in  the  hall.  If  any  thing  is  to  grow  out  of 
it  hereafter,  it  is  more  than  I  know. 

It  had  been  hinted  to  me  from  two  or  three  quarters,  but 
principally  by  Ned  Hazard,  and  I  believe  I  have  said  as  much  to 
my  reader  in  some  former  chapter,  that  Bel   Tracy  is  a  little 
given  to  certain  romantic  fancies,  such  as  country  ladies  who  want  '■ 
excitement  and  read  novels  are  apt  to  engender.     Her  vivacity 
and  spirit  show  themselves  in  the  zeal  with  which  she  ever  culti-: 
vates  the  freaks  that  take  possession  of  her  mind.     For  some ' 
time  past,  she  had  devoted  her  time  to  training  a  beautiful  marsh- 
hawk,  a  bird  resembling  the  short-winged  hawk  known  by  the  •' 
name  of  the  hen-harrier  in  the  old  books,  and  had  nurtured  it 
with  her  own  hand  from  its  callow  state.     By  an  intimacy  of  one " 
year  she  had  rendered  this  bird  so  docile,  that,  at  her  summons,!' 
he  would  leave  a  large  wicker  cage  in  which  he  was  ordinarily 
imprisoned,  and  which  was  suspended  from  an  old  mulberry-tree«; 
in  the  yard,  to  perch  upon  her  wrist.     The  picturesque  associa- ' 
tion  of  falconry  with  the  stories  of  an  age  that  Walter  Scott  has  i 
rendered  so  bewitching  to  the  fancy  of  meditative  maidens,  had' 
inspired  Bel  with  an  especial  ardor  in  the  attempt  to  reclaim  her| 
bird.     In  her   pursuit  of  this   object  she  had  picked  up  somei 
gleanings  of  the  ancient  lore  that  belonged  to  the  art;  and,  fan-' 


T II  i:     II  A  K  1  N  G     II  A  \V  K  .  229 

astic  as  it  may  seem,  began  to  think  that  her  unskilful  efforts 

H.ild  be  attended  with  success.     Her  hawk,  it  is  true,  had  not 

eu  taught  to  follow  his  quarry,  but  he  was   manned — as  Bel 

aid  of  him — in  all  such  exercises  as  made  him  a  fit  companion 

a-  a  lady.     She  had  provided  him  with  leather  bewets,  that  but- 

ned  round  his  legs,  and  to  each  of  these  was  attached  a  small 

ilver  bell.     A  silver  ring,  or  varvel,  was  fitted  to  one  leg,  and 

n  it  was  engraved  the  name  of  her  favorite,  copied  from  some 

Id  tale,  "  Fairbourne,"  with  the  legend  attached,  "  I  live  in  my 

idy's  grace."     I  know  not  what  other  foppery  was  expended  up- 

n  her  minion ;  but  I  will  warrant  he  went  forth  in  as  conceited 

rray  as  his    '•  lady's  grace "  could  devise  for  him.     A  lady's 

ivorite  is  not  apt  to  want  gauds  and  jewels. 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  Bel  stole  forth  alone  to  Fair- 

:.    ourne's  perch.     She  held  in  her  hand  a  pair  of  leather  jesses,  a 

1   3ash,  and  a  ball  of  fine  cord,  which  she  termed  a  creance.     Now, 

be  thought  that  had  taken  possession  of  her  brain   was.  to  slip 

,    ff  with  Fairbourne  into  the  field,  and  give  him  a  flight ;  a  privi- 

.   ^ge  that  he  had  never  enjoyed  during  the  whole  period  of  his 

Li    [iraldom.     Bel  supposed  that  by  fastening  the  jesses  to  his  legs, 

■;'  -or  I  should  say,  speaking  like  one  versed  in  the  mystery,  his 

rms, — and  the  leash  to  the  jesses,  and  the  creance  to  that,  Fair- 

ourne  would  be  as  secure  in  the  empyrean  as  on  his  perch  :  she 

ad  only  to  manage  him  as  a  boy  manages  his  kite.     Her  pur- 

.    lose,  however,  was  to  try  the  first   experiment  alone,  and,  upon 

r    rS  success,  she  designed  to  surprise  her  visitors,  as  well  as  the 

imily,  with  the  rare  entertainment  of  a  hawking  scene. 

As  she  stood  under  the  mulberry-tree,  looking  at  Fairbourne 
^  ring  at  the  limb  of  a  pullet,  or,  in  other  words,  whetting  his 
,  oracious  appetite  with  the  raw  leg  of  a  chicken,  and  had  just 
J  latched  the  morsel  from  his  beak  to  make  him  the  more  keen, 
^i    [arvey  Biggs  accidentally  came  into  the  porch,  and,  stooping 


230  THE     RAKING    HAWK.  I 

down,  picked  up  from  the  floor  a  strange  resemblance  of  a  bir 
compacted  of  leather  and  feathers. 

"What  child's  toy  is  this,  Bel?"  cried  he,  loud  enough  f 
startle  the  lady  with  the  question.     "  What  crotchet  have  you  i 
your  head  now  ?" 

"Pray,  cousin  Harvey,  come  this  way,"   said  she.  turnin 
round  with  the  hawk  upon  her  hand.     "  It  is  my  lure  ;  bring 
to  me,  for  I  want  your  help.     I  am  going  to  give  Fairbourne 
holiday.     You  shall  see  him  presently  dabbling  his  wing  in  yoi 
der  cloud." 

Harvey  approached  with  the  lure  in  his  hand  ;  and  Bel,  pa 
ting  the  bird  upon  the  back,  as  he  alternately,  stretched  out  fir  i 
one  wing,  and  then  the  other,  along  his  leg, — in  the  action  knovj 
by  the  name  of  mantling. — explained  her  whole  design  to  h 
cousin.  Then  binding  on  the  jesses,  with  the  leash  and  cream | 
each  made  fast  to  the  other,  she  sallied  out  upon  the  lawn,  attendi  i 
by  her  squire,  until  she  reached  a  spot  at  a  distance  from  any  tr<! 
where  she  intimated  to  Harvey  that  she  would  now  let  Fa; 
bourne  fly.  •  ; 

"  But  if  he  should  not  come  back,  Bel  ?"  inquired  Harv( ; 
'•  For  it  seems  to  me  not  altogether  so  safe  to  trust  to  his  love  ] 
his  perch,  or  even  of  his  mistress  ;  although  in  that  he  is  not' 
my  mind.  In  spite  of  your  lure,  which  I  know  is  a  great  tempi 
tion  to  some  persons,  my  pretty  cousin,  there  are  creatures  th' 
prefer  the  open  world  to  your  hand,  strange  as  it  may  seem  !" 

"  Is  not  here  my  creance  ?"  asked  Bel,  in  reply.  "  And  th  | 
when  the  lure  fails,  have  I  not  only  to  pull  the  string?"  ' 

"  Your  light  flax  is  not  so  strong  as  a  wild  bird's  love  of  fr  '■ 
dom,"  said  Harvey. 

"  Ah,  cousin,  you  forget  that  Fairbourne  is  a  gallant  bird,  a  J 
loves  to  hear  me  call  him.  I  will  whistle  him  down  with«» 
compulsion.     Now,  mark  how  loth  he  is  to  leave  my  hand,"Ci- 


THE     11  AKIN  G     HAWK.  231 

tinued  BeL  rapidly  endeavoring  to  cast  the  bird  ofif,  who,  instead 
of  flying,  merely  spread  his  wings  with  a  motion  necessary  to 
preserve  his  balance.  At  length,  she  succeeded  in  disengaging 
him  from  her  hand,  when,  instead  of  mounting  into  the  air,  he 
tamely  lit  upon  the  ground  some  few  paces  from  her  feet. 

"  Oh  villain  Fairbourne  !''  cried  Harvey,  '-you  grovel  when  you 
should  soar." 

"  This  comes  of  my  not  hooding  him,"  said  Bel.  "  But  it 
seemed  so  cruel  to  pass  a  thread  through  his  eyelids, — which  is 
called  seeling,  and  must  be  done  before  he  would  bear  the  hood, — 
that  I  could  not  think  of  it.  I  don't  believe  those  ladies  of  the 
old  time  could  have  been  so  very  tender-hearted.  Cousin,  if  he 
will  not  fly,  the  direction  is  to  strike  at  him  with  your  wand." 

'•  Which  means  my  foot,"  said  Harvey,  '•  so,  master  Fairbourne, 
up,  or  my  wand  shall  ruflfle  your  feathers  for  you  !"  With  these 
words,  Harvey  approached  the  bird,  and,  striking  at  him  with  his 
boot,  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  him  spring  briskly  from  the  ground, 
and  mount  into  the  air  with  a  rapid,  bickering  flight.  He  took 
his  course  against  the  wind,  and,  as  he  ascended,  Bel  played  out 
her  line,  with  rapturous  exclamations  of  pleasure  at  the  sight  of 
her  petted  bird  flinging  himself  aloft  with  such  a  spirited  motion. 
When  he  had  risen  to  the  utmost  reach  of  his  creance,  he  was 
observed  to  dart  and  wheel  through  the  air  in  every  variety 
of  perplexed  motion,  canceliering — as  it  was  anciently  termed — 
in  graceful  circles  through  the  atmosphere,  and  turning,  with 
quick  flashes,  the  bright  lining  of  his  wings  to  the  sun.  It  was 
beautiful  to  look  upon  the  joyous  bird  gambolling  at  this  lordly 
height,  and  the  graceful  girl  watching  his  motions  with  a  counte- 
inance  of  perfect  transport. 

"  To  my  thinking,"  said  Harvey,  "  Fairbourne  is  so  well 
pleased  with  his  pastime  that  he  will  not  be  very  willing  to  re- 
turn." 


232  THE     RAKING     HAWK. 

"  Ob,  you  shall  see  !"  cried  Bell ;  "  I  can  lure  '  my  tassel-gentle 
back  again.'  Look  you  now,  cousin,  here  is  Fairbourne  shall 
come  back  to  me  like  a  spaniel !" 

Saying  this,  she  flourished  her  lure  in  the  air,  and  called  out 
the  words  of  her  customary  salutation  to  the  hawk  as  loud  as  she 
was  able.  "  He  sees  and  hears  with  extraordinary  acuteness," 
she  continued,  as  she  still  waved  the  lure  above  her  head,  "  and 
will  obey  presently." 

"  Faith,  if  he  hears  or  sees,  he  does  not  heed  !"  said  Harvey 

"  He  has  been  so  overfed  with  delicacies,"  replied  Bel,  a  litth 
disappointed  at  receiving  no  token  of  recognition,  "  that  it  is  nc 
wonder  this  lure  has  no  charms  for  him.  My  whistle  he  nevei, 
neglects." 

Upon  this,  she  put  a  small  ivory  pipe  to  her  mouth,  and  blev 
a  shrill  note. 

"  You  overrate  your  authority,  Bel,"  said  her  cousin.  "  Fair 
bourne  has  no  ear  for  music.  He  is  fit  for  treason,  stratagen 
and  spoils." 

'•  The  wretch  !"  exclaimed  Bel.  playfully.  "  Does  he  dare  def 
my  whistle  !  then,  master,  I  must  need  take  a  course  with  you 
there  is  some  virtue  in  fetters,  however,  when  milder  moans  fai 
So  come  down,  scapegrace,  and  answer  to  your  mistress  for  you 
truant  behavior  !  Aha  !  you  obey  now  !"  she  added  exultingl;.' 
as  she  drew  in  the  line,  and  compelled  her  hawk  to  dart  towarc 
the  earth. 

"  After  all,"  said  Harvey,  "  there  is  no  persuasion  like  a  strin; ; 
Trust  me,  a  loop  upon  hawk  or  lover,  coz,  is  safer  than  a  lure  ar 
day." 

"  It  did  not  require  the  flight  of  a  silly  bird  to  teach  me  that 
said  Bel,  smiling,  "  or  why  did  I  bring  this  long  line  into  the  fie 
with  me?" 

At  this  moment,  Fairbourne  had  almost  reached  the  groui 


TIIU:     RAKING     HAWK.  233 

DV  a  swift  flight  that  far  outsped  Bel's  exertions,  assisted  b}'  Ilar- 
rey,  to  draw  him  down:  then,  skimming  along  the  surface  of  the 
lield  with  the  slackened  cord,  he  suddenly  shot  upwards  with 
;uch  vigor  as  to  snap  the  string ;  and,  frightened  by  the  jerk  that 
tevered  his  fetters,  he  arose  with  an  alarmed  motion,  to  a  soaring 
jieight,  and  then  shaped  his  career  directly  up  the  river. 

Bel  and  Harvey  watched  the  retreating  bird  in  equal  amaze- 
inent,  as  he  winged  his  flight  across  the  woody  promontories  in 
le  distance,  until  he  was  reduced  to  a  mere  speck  upon  the  sky. 

Bel's  emotion  was  one  of  mortification,  not  unmingled  with 
.dmiration  at  the  arrow-like  swiftness  with  which  her  favorite 
ped  from  her  hand.  Harvey's  was  wonder,  whether  a  bird 
lurtured  in  such  household  familiarity  would  soar  so  far  from 
lis  accustomed  haunts  as  to  render  his  return  hopeless. 

"  I  can  see  him  yet,"  said  Harvey,  straining  his  sight  up  the 
iver,  '•  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  has  darted  down  to  perch 
lear  Swallow  Barn." 

"  He  will  come  back."  muttered  Bel,  in  a  distrusting  tone  of 
oice,  and  with  a  look  of  dejection,  "  I  know  he  will  come  back ! 
lotbing  that  1  have  tended  so  kindly  would  desert  me." 

'•  Make  yourself  easy,  my  dear  cousin,"  replied  Harvey,  '•  he 
lelongs  to  an  ungrateful  tribe,  and  is  not  worth  reclaiming." 
!     '•  I  could  sit  down  and  cry,"  said  Bel. 

'  "  You  should  laugh  rather,  to  think,"  replied  her  cousin,  "  what 
n  arrant  coxcomb  you  have  sent  abroad  amongst  the  crows  and 
jiingfishers  of  the  river.  He,  with  his  jangling  bells,  and  his 
liver  ring  and  dainty  apparel !  A  marvellous  fopling  he  will 
nake  in  the  sedate  circles  of  owls  and  buzzards  !  I  should  not  be 
|Urprised  if,  in  three  days'  time,  he  should  be  whipped  out  of  all 
|;ood  society  in  the  woods,  and  be  fain  to  come  back  to  his  perch, 
l.s  torn-down  and  bedraggled  as  a  certain  other  favorite  of  j^ours, 
l7ho  took  refuge  at  The  Brakes  yesterday." 


234  THE     RAKING    HAWK, 


^'-  Fie,  cousin  !"  exclaimed  Bel,  laughing,  "  what  harm  has  poo] 
Mr.  Swansdown  done,  that  you  should  rail  at  him  ?" 

"  True,"  said  Harvey ;  "  if  you  had  deigned  to  cast  a  loo| 
round  him,  he  would  not  have  fled  so  willingly." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  asked  Bel. 

"  I  will  tell  Ned  Hazard,"  said  Harvey.  "  This  is  an  inciden 
in  his  line.  Ned  has  not  yet  killed  seven  dragons  in  your  service 
and  therefore  you  frown  upon  him.  So,  pray  let  me  put  him  ii 
the  way  to  signalize  himself  He  shall  bring  back  Fairbourne,  i 
the  renegade  is  to  be  found  in  the  Old  Dominion." 

"  I  would  not  give  him  the  trouble,"  said  Bel,  carelessly. 

"  I  will,"  replied  Harvey ;  "  and  by  way  of  quickening  his  m( 
tion,  will  tell  him  that  you  would  take  it  kindly." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Bel,  "  Edward  would  do  any  thing  I  migl 
ask  of  him."  ; 

"  He  would  delight  in  it,"  replied  Harvey.  "  He  is  moi ' 
horribly  in  love.  The  search  after  this  hawk  would  be  occupatic: 
for  him :  it  would  divert  his  melancholy."  : 

"  Oh,  cousin  Harvey  Biggs  !"  cried  Bel  with  great  animatio ' 
"  to  say  that  Ned  Hazard  is  melancholy,  or  in  love  either,  aft 
what  we  heard  on  the  bank  of  the  river  the  other  day,  when  Ti' 
surprised  him  and  Mr.  Littleton  !" 

"  Melancholy, — that  is,  your  love-melancholy, — wears  dive' 
antics,"  said  Harvey.  "  Ned  was  beguiling  his  sorrows  in  musr 
which  is  very  common,  as  you  will  find,  in  all  the  old  romance 
It  was  ono  of  the  excesses  of  his  passion,  Bel."  ; 

"  To  be  singing  my  name  in  doggerel  couplets  on  the  hi^ 
way  !  I  assure  you  I  don't  forgive  him  for  such  passion  !"  int;| 
rupted  the  other.  ' 

"  If  the  gods  have  not  made  him  poetical,"  replied  Harv  , 
"you  should  not  blame  him  for  that." 

"  Talk  to  me  of  my  hawk,  cousin,  and  pray  spare  your  jes ,; 
for  you  see  I  need  comfort." 


1 


THE     RAKING     HAWK.  235 

"  Ned,"  said  Harvey,  '•  is  all  the  comfort  I  can  give  you,  and 
f  he  does  not  bring  back  Fairbourne,  I  would  advise  you  to  take 
ihe  miserable  swain  himself." 

"  "Why  do  you  talk  to  me  so?"  asked  Bel. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  replied  Harvey,  '•  I  have  a  reason  for 
jt.  Ned,  you  know,  is  a  good  fellow.  And  here, — what  is  very 
latural, — he  has  fallen  in  love.  He  could  not  help  that,  you 
mow  !  AVell,  it  makes  him  silly,  as  it  makes  every  man,  except 
hose  who  are  so  by  nature,  and  they  grow  wise  upon  it.  He  is 
fraid  to  talk  to  you,  because  his  heart  gets  in  his  mouth,  and 
hokes  him.  I  can  see  plainly  enough  what  he  wishes  to  say,  and 
herefore  I  am  determined,  as  you  afie  my  cousin,  to  say  it  for 
im.  He  wishes  to  tell  you,  that  aulou  are  inexorable,  he  has 
iade  up  his  mind  to  leave  this  country  with  Mark  Littleton ;  and 
jhen,  heaven  knows  where  the  poor  fellow  will  go !" 

;    I     "  If  no  man  was  ever  more  in  love  than  Ned  Hazard,"  answered 

I 

>el,  "  the  [world  would  be  sadly  in  want  of  romances.     Why, 
:    ousin,  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  be  in  earnest  long  enough  to 
■y^    um  up  his  own  thoughts  upon  the  subject." 

'  "  How  little  do  you  know,"  cried  Harvey,  "  of  my  poor  friend 
;ed !" 

,  "  Know  him,  cousin  !"  exclaimed  Bel,  laughing,  ''•  you  won't 
|e  so  rash  as  to  say  Ned  Hazard  is  a  man  of  mystery?  Why  he 
5  mirth  itself." 

"  You  mistake  his  madness  for  mirth,  Bel ;  he  is  distracted, 
|nd,  therefore,  unaccountable  for  his  actions." 

'•  You  are  as  mad  as  he,  cousin  Harvey.  That  is  a  pretty 
'nd  of  love  that  plays  off  such  merry-andrew  tricks  as  Ned's 
lummery,  with  you  to  back  him  !  Your  tragedy  of  the  Babes 
^  p  the  Wood,  and  your  serenades  under  our  windows,  look  very 
■luch  like  the  doings  of  a  distracted  lover  !  Give  me  a  man  of 
cverential  manners  and  dignity  for  a  lover.  Now,  you  know,  Ned 
iins  none  of  that,  cousin." 


236  THE     RAKING     HAWK. 

"  Bel,  you  are  as  mad  as  either  Ned  or  myself,"  exclaimed 
Harvey  with  a  laugh,  and  taking  both  of  Bel's  hands  ;  -  you  will 
marry  some  grave  rogue  or  dull  pedant,  after  all !" 

"  Cousin  Harvey,  I  will  not  be  catechized  any  longer,"  inter- 
rupted Bel  impatiently  ;  "  here  I  come  to  fly  a  hawk,  and  lo,  you 
engage  me  in  a  parley  about  Ned  Hazard  !" 

'•  Well,"  replied  Harvey,  "  I  have  discharged  my  duty.  I  see* 
Ned  is  in  a  bad  way.  Poor  devil !  he  ought  never  to  have  fall^ 
in  love.  But  it  was  not  his  fault.  I  thought  it  but  just  to  teU 
you  what  I  feared.  Ned  will  leave  us :  and  who  knows  but  bc| 
may  take  another  trip  around  the  Horn !  He  will  then  throii' 
himself  into  the  great  struggle  for  freedom  in  that  hemisphere 
become  a  general,  of  course ;  push  his  conquests  across  the  Andes 
and  perhaps,  reaching  the  heights  of  Chimborazo,  will  fall  in  somd 
splendid  battle,  having  first  engraved  with  his  sword  the  name  oj 
the  cold  Bel  Tracy  upon  the  ice  of  the  glacier.  And  there  h  I 
will  leave  that  mighty  mountain  to  tell  posterity  how  burninji 
was  his  love,  how  frozen  was  his  mistress  !  NoW;  there's  dignit;' 
and  superlative  sentiment  both  for  you  !  Let  Swansdown  hincj 
self  beat  that  if  he  can  !" 

"  Why  what  an  irreclaimable  jester  are  you  !"  cried  Bel ;  ** 
do  not  wonder  that  Edward  Hazard  should  be  so  little  seriou 
with  such  a  companion  !"  I 

"  Then,  Bel,  you  do  not  like  him?"  ' 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  Bel,  "  I  like  him  exceedingly 
as  well  as  a  brother.  But  depend  upon  it,  I  cannot  entertain 
him  in  any  other  relation,  until  perhaps — " 

"  He  has  learned  to  be  more  sentimental  and  scrupulous  :■ 
his  behavior,"  interrupted  her  cousin.  [ 

"  At  least,"  said  Bel,  in  a  more  serious  manner,  and  evident 
as  if  she  felt  what  she  said,  "  until  he  ceases  to  jest  upon  me." 

"That's  in  confidence,"  said   Harvey;   "I  understand  yC; 


j  THE     RAKING     HAWK.  237 

s'ed  has  some  schooling  to  go  through  yet.  At  all  events,  he 
mst  not  leave  Swallow  Barn." 

"  If  you  are  in  earnest,  cousin, — for  indeed  I  do  not  know  how 
3  take  you, — and  he  thinks  of  such  a  thing,  I  should  be  very 
jrry  for  it,"  said  Bel. 

During  this  conversation,  Bel  had  taken  Harvey's  arm,  and 
icy  had  wandered  towards  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  from 
icnce  homeward,  so  much  engrossed  with  the  topics  that  Harvey 

ad  brought  into  discussion,  that  Bel  gradually  forgot  her  hawk, 

I 

od  fell  into  a  confidential  communion  upon  a  subject  that  was 
earer  to  her  feelings  than  she  chose  to  confess.  The  particu- 
irs  of  this  further  discourse,  which  was  continued  until  they 
ad  reached  the  house,  after  our  arrival  at  The  Brakes,  was  not 
il  related  to  me  by  Harvey  ;  but  the  impression  made  upon  his 
lind  was,  that  Ned  Hazard  had  not  taken  the  pains  to  con- 
iliate  Bel's  favor,  which  the  value  of  the  prize  deserved.  He 
id  not  doubt  that  she  had  an  ajQfection  for  him ;  but  still,  she 
>oke  as  if  there  were  prejudices  to  be  overcome,  and  scruples  to 
e  conquered,  which  stood  in  the  way  of  her  decision.  Harvey's 
►ject,  under  all  his  levity  of  manner,  was  to  ascertain  whether 
ed's  quest  was  hopeless  or  otherwise  ;  and  he  had  therefore 
'ailed  himself  of  the  adventure  of  the  hawk,  to  draw  her  thoughts 
jito  the  current  indicated  in  the  above  conversation.  His  con- 
jusion  from  it  all  was,  that  Ned  must  either  reform  his  behav- 
>r  towards  Bel,  or  relinquish  his  pretensions.  Harvey  added, 
Ned  is  falling  rapidly  into  that  privileged  intimacy  that  is  fatal 
9  the  pretensions  of  a  lover.  This  jesting,  careless  friendship 
Jill  lodge  him,  in  a  short  time,  high  and  dry  upon  a  shoal  in  hei 
'gard,  where  he  will  become  a  permanent  and  picturesque  land- 
ark.  He  will  acquire  the  enviable  distinction  of  a  brother,  as 
le  begins  to  call  him  already,  and  he  will  be  certain  to  bo 
ivited  to  her  wedding:." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


THE     AWARD. 


11 


Whilst  Harvey  and  myself  "were  still  discoursing  over  the  mi\ 
ters  I  have  imperfectly  brought  to  my  reader's  attention  in  t| 
last  chapter,  Ned  Hazard  opened  the  door  of  the  study,  and  cai 
towards  us,  with  an  animated  step  and  a  countenance  full  of  mi 
riment.     He  told  us,  with  much  boasting,  of  his   own  particij 
tion  in  the  exploit,  and  of  the  inestimable  value  of  his  servic^ 
that  the  old  family  lawsuit,  which  had  been  so  tempest-tost  a 
weather-beaten,  was  at  length  happily  towed  into  port :  that  t 
Apple-pie   was   once   more    elevated   to  the   rank  of  a  front 
stream,  upon  whose  banks  the  whilom  hostile  clans  of  the  Trai! 
and  the  Hazard  might  now  assemble  in  peace :  that  after  wadi 
through  a  sea  of  manuscript  to  oblige  Mr.  Tracy,  and  heari 
many  wise  legal  apothegms  from  his  lips,  and  turning  Swa" 
down's  brain  topsy-turvy  with  points  and  discriminations,  mer( 
to  prevent  him  from  marring  the  decision,  Mr.  "Wart  had  S" 
ceeded  in  bringing  the  matter  to  a  close,  and  was  now  busy 
drawing  up  a  formal  judgment  upon  the  case.     "  Philly,"  C(  • 
tinned  Ned,  "  is  like  to  suffer  injury  from  retention.     It  is » 
much  as  he  can  do  to  prevent   himself  from  bursting  out  int(. 
horse-laugh  at  every  line  he  writes.     But  he  is,  I  believe,  soi> 
what  overawed  by  Mr.  Tracy,  who  takes  the  whole  matter  ^ 


THE     AWARD.  239 

gravely  as  if  it  were  a  state  business.  The  best  of  it  is,  Swans- 
jdown  is  in  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  decision,  and,  with 
I  k^ery  little  encouragement,  would  bring  in  a  verdict  against  The 
Brakes.  Philly's  whole  endeavor,  for  the  last  hour,  has  there- 
fore been  to  mystify  the  case  in  such  a  manner  as  to  keep  Swans- 
,down  from  insisting  upon  the  inquiry,  whether  the  mill-pond 
[oozed  away  in  a  series  of  years,  or  was  carried  of  by  some  violent 
accident.  Now,  you  know  it  is  a  fact  of  common  notoriety,  that 
it  was  swept  off  in  a  tremendous  flood.  Philly,  finding  Swans- 
down  likely  to  dwell  on  this  circumstance,  has  made  a  masterly 
diversion  upon  a  point  of  law  that  has  happily  quieted  the  gentle- 
man's scruples.  He  says,  the  act  of  God  works  no  man  injury, 
and  that  if  the  dam  has  been  swept  away  suddenly,  it  makes  no 
difference,  because  it  would  have  wasted  away  at  any  rate,  by  this 
time ;  and  that  it  is  extremely  probable  it  was  very  much  dimin- 
ished before  the  flood  ;  that  if,  therefore,  it  was  not  an  absolute, 
imperceptible  decrease,  it  was  quasi  a  decrease  of  that  nature.  I 
think  Philly  has  written  something  of  this  sort  in  his  report. 
This  jargon  has  so  confounded  Swansdown,  as  to  set  him  to  gaz- 
ing at  the  ceiling  in  a  brown  study,  and  has  thrown  Mr.  Tracy 
into  an  ecstasy  of  admiration  at  Philly's  learning  and  acuteness. 
All  this  time,  however.  Mr.  "Wart  has  had  his  mouth  puckered 
up  with  repressed  laughter,  which  so  affected  me,  that  I  could  not 
remain  in  the  room.  I  have  drunk  half  a  dozen  glasses  of  water, 
and  have  been  thrumming  my  fingers  against  the  window-panes 
ever  since  this  debate  has  been  in  agitation,  merely  to  escape  no- 
tice. Mr.  Tracy  has,  in  consequence,  given  me  some  sharp  re- 
bukes for  my  inattention  to  the  momentous  principles  that  Philly 
has  been  expounding.  In  short,  I  was  obliged  tc  make  my  es- 
cape." 

"  Will  they  admit  bystanders,"  asked  Harvey,  "  to  be  present 
at  the  deliberation  ?" 


Iffl 


240  THE     AWARD. 

'•  Oh  !  cheerfully,"  replied  Ned;  '•  but  you  must  be  very  care-flhii 
ful  how  you  behave.  Mr.  Tracy  is  in  the  most  nervous  state  im-iflli 
aginable.  He  is  greatly  delighted  with  the  result  of  the  trial ; 
but  I  don't  think  he  is  quite  satisfied  with  Philly's  waiving  aDifljiil 
opinion  upon  the  points  of  law  connected  with  the  deed.  It  is  aHiJil 
little  curious  to  observe  how  pertinaciously  the  old  gentlemanfM^li 
adheres  to  his  notion  of  the  facts.  He  has  twenty  times  assertedjj 
that  the  site  of  the  mill-dam  was  never  surveyed :  and  there  thayj 
have  the  very  document  of  the  survey  itself,  which  is  shown  tC' 
him  every  time  he  makes  the  assertion;  he  looks  at  it,  and,  sa 
we  all  suppose,  is  convinced; — but,  in  the  next  minute,  commen, 
ces  anew  with  the  same  objection.  I  remarked  that  at  length  hi' 
began  to  get  out  of  humor  at  this  sort  of  contradiction." 

"  The  old  gentleman,"  said  Harvey,  "  is  turning  a  little  soui; 
with  age.  His  temperament  is  growing  chilly;  his  constitutioi; 
resembles  that  waterish,  gravelly  soil  that  you  see  sometimes  i 
around  a  spring,  where  nothing  grows  but  sheep-sorrel." 

In  a  few  moments  we  all  repaired  to  the  study.  Philly  War 
and  Swansdown  were  standing  together,  at  the  moment  of  ou: 
entrance,  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  The  former  held  in  his  hand 
a  sheet  of  paper  upon  which  the  award  was  written,  and  wa 
silently  reading  it  over,  whilst  his  features  expressed  that  comi' 
perturbation  which  a  man  surprised  by  some  droll  incident  in  ; 
church  might  be  supposed  to  wear.  He  looked  at  us,  upon  ou 
approach,  from  beneath  his  spectacles,  as  his  chin  rested  upoi 
his  waistcoat,  and  smiled,  but  read  on.  Swansdown's  face  wor 
that  air  of  gravity  and  doubt,  which  I  can  fancy  was  legible  ii 
the  countenances  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence,  after  tliey  had  put  their  names  to  that  important  docu 
ment.  At  the  table,  with  his  back  to  these  two,  sat  Mr.  Trac} 
with  a  silk  handkerchief  folded  and  laid  upon  his  head,  to  guar 
him  against  the  breeze  that  blew  in  through  the  window.     Hi 


i 


THE     AWARD.  241 

^  hands  were  spread  flat  upon  the  board,  in  such  a  manner  as  to 

•  throw  his  elbows  directly  outwards  from  his  body  ;  and  he  was 
^  casting  a  keen  glance  over  the  field  of  papers  that  lay  unfolded 
^  jbefore  him.     As  soon  as  he  was  aware  of  our  approach,  he  raised 

•  his  head,  looked  at  us  with  an  expression  of  good  humor,  and  re- 
"  nnarked,  with  his  usual  slow  and  distinct  utterance, — 

'•  Our  friends  have  had  a  serious  job  of  it  to-day,"  nodding  to- 
wards the  papers  strewed  over  the  table,  "  but  I  believe,  by  dint 

•  of  perseverance,  we  have  reached  the  bottom  at  last." 

^  We  offered  him  our  congratulations  upon  the  event ;  but  he 

-  absolutely  refused  to  allow  us  to  express  any  pleasure  at  his  suc- 
■    eess,  lest  it  might  be  considered  as  triumphing  over  his  /"riend 

Meriwether.  He  declared  that  moderation  in  victory  was  a  sen- 
'^  biment  that  he  desired  particularly  to  evince  in  this  case ;  and  he 
'-    therefore  checked  our  advances   with  a  gravity  that  made  us 

-  jlaugh.  The  old  gentleman,  however,  was  too  full  of  his  victory 
|to  preserve  his  consistency  in  this  humor ;  for  when  Harvey 
feiggs  insinuated  a  compliment  to  his  judgment,  by  reminding 
jbim  that  he  had  frequently  predicted  the  result,  whenever  this 

'  base  should  come  to  be  fairly  considered,  he  laughed  outright  for 
:•  some  moments,  with  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  concluded  by 
r>    saying— 

;:  "  I  am  not  apt  to  take  up  fancies  unadvisedly.  I  generally 
51    reflect  upon  my  grounds.     But,  dogs  take  our  friend  Wart !  he 

is  for  pruning  the  case  so  much,  that  he  must  needs  slur  over  all 
!    iny  law  touching  the  phraseology  of  the  deed.     Ha,  ha,  ha !     I 

pee  his  drift :  he  will  spare  our  friend  Meriwether.     Well,  well ! 

it  is  quite  immaterial  what  shot  brings  down  the  pigeon,  so  that 

we  get  him,  ha,  ha,  ha  !" 
i  "  A  good  judge,"    said  Mr.  Wart,  speaking  from    the    spot 

J    where  we  first  found  him,  ••  will  never  decide  more  than  the  case 
;    [requires.     I  am  not  apt  to  deal  in  obiter  dicta." 
11 


242  THE    AWARD. 

"  The  commonwealth  has  done  you  injustice,  Mr.  Wart,"  sai 
Mr.  Tracy ;  "  you  should  have  been  on  the  bench  long  ago." 

"I  am  afraid  my  chance  has  gone  for  ever  now,"  replie 
Philly,  "  for  here  Mr.  Swansdown  and  myself  have  overruled  tl 
opinions  of  the  whole  Court  of  Appeals."  : 

"  These  courts  are  obstinate  bodies,"  said  the  old  gentlemar' 
"  it  is  a  difficult  thing  to  bring  them  to  reason,  when  they  ha>' 
once  got  a  fantasy  into  their  brains.  And  now,  Mr.  Wart,  prjj 
favor  the  gentlemen  with  the  reading  of  your  award." 

"  I  will,"  said  Philly,  "  if  I  can  make  out  my  own  scrawl. 
has  been  a  rapid  business.     We  have  administered  justice  velis  < 
vatiSj  I  may  say,  considering  the  nature  of  the  case,  and  the  tiiii 
we  have  been  at  it." 

Upon  this,  Philly  began  to  read  aloud.  The  document  in  1 
hand,  although  hastily  prepared,  was  drawn  out  with  all  t) 
technical  verbiage  that  belonged  to  the  nature  of  such  an  instri 
ment.  It  gave  a  brief  history  of  the  controversy  from  the  coi 
mencement,  which  part  Philly  ran  over  with  a  hurried  voic 
but  he  assumed  a  more  deliberate  manner  when  he  came  to  t 
grounds  of  the  decision,  stating,  "  that  the  said  arbitrators,  hs 
ing  duly  considered  all  and  singular  the  letters,  declarations  ' 
writing,  and  other  papers  touching  the  exposition  of  the  intent  i 
the  said  parties,  and  their  motives  for  making  and  receiving  t 
said  grant,  and  also  duly  considering  the  deeds  appertain!: 
thereunto,  and  all  other  matters  connected  therewith,  have  r 
found  it  necessary  to  declare  their  opinion  upon  the  true  inte : 
and  effect  in  law  of  the  said  deeds,  by  reason  that  certain  fa( 
and  matters  in  evidence  have  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  sa' 
arbitrators,  whereby  the  original  proprietary  rights  and  rclatio 
of  the  said  parties  litigant — " 

"I  wish  you  would  change  that  word  'litigant,'  Mr.  War 
said  Mr.  Tracy,  who  during  the  reading  of  the  award  sat  -istcni .' 


^•1 


THE     AWARD.  243 


jyith  fixed  attention,  and  nodding  his  head,  somewhat  in  the  man- 
ner of  one  keeping  time  in  a  concert :  "  I  don't  like  that  word ; 

^^1^  it  would  imply  that  Mr.  Meriwether  and  myself  have  been  liti- 

"Iwi  ^iouSj  which  is  too  strong  a  term." 

Philly  turned  up  his  eyes  with  a  queer  expression,  inclined 

«Si  his  head  sidewise,  and  raised  one  shoulder  so  as  to  touch  his  ear. 

—  "I  wish  you  would  say,  '  of  the  parties  laying  claim  to  the 
and  in  dispute  ;'  I  think  that  would  be  better." 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  Philly,  approaching  the  table,  and 
ilt-ering  the  phrase  in  conformity  with  this  suggestion. 

—  "Of  the  said  parties  claiming  the  laud  in  dispute,"  con- 
tinued the  counsellor,  "  have  grown  to  be  dependent  upon  the 
3rinciples  of  law  brought  into  view  by  the  said  facts  and  matters 
in  evidence  :  which  said  facts  and  matters  in  evidence  show  that 
ihe  said  mill-dam,  herein  abovementioned,  was  originally  bounded 
by  courses  and  distances,  as  laid  off  and  described  in  the  survey 
thereof  by  a  certain  Jeremiah  Perkins,  made  under  the  direction 
Df  the  said  Gilbert  Tracy  and  Edward  Hazard,  as  appears  by  the 
jaid  survey  filed  in  the  proceedings  in  this  case." 

"  I  don't  think  the  site  of  the  dam  was  laid  off  by  course  and 
distance,"  said  Mr.  Tracy,  interrupting  the  lawyer. 
,jj         "  The  paper  is  here,"  replied  Philly,  stooping  over  the  table, 
,,    ind  producing  it. 

^         Mr.  Tracy  took  it,  and  put  it  down  again.     "  It  must  be  a 
-:    spurious  document  that,"  he  remarked  gravely. 
j  The  truth  was,  this  paper,  which  had   been  always  kept  at 

,(  Swallow  Barn,  presented  a  fact  that  completely  overthrew  one  of 
„  Mr.  Tracy's  strongest  positions,  namely,  that  as  the  deed  granted 
J  so  much  laud  only  as  might  be  used  by  the  dam,  the  portion 
granted  was  necessarily  mutable,  and  incapable  of  being  con- 
fined to  specific  boundaries.  This  document  of  the  survey,  there- 
fore, offended  his  sight  whenever  it  was  produced.     And  as  it 


244  THE    AWARD.  l 

had  but  recently  been  brought  to  his  consideration,  he  had  pon ' 
dered  too  long  over  the  case,  in  its  other  aspects,  to  be  able  t( 
accommodate  his  conceptions  to  this  new  state  of  things.     It  wa  • 
impossible  to  break  the  crust  of  his  prejudices,  which  now  eol 
veloped  him  like  a  suit  of  mail.  | 

"I  thought,"  said  Philly,  with  a  conciliatory  inclination  o| 
his  head,  '•  we  had  settled  this  point  before."  ' 

"Aye,  aye,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  recollecting  himsehj 
"  go  on,  sir  !"  i 

— "  And  it  hath  also  appeared  that  when  the  said  grist-mD' 
fell  into  disuse  and  decay,  the  mill-dam  aforesaid  was  graduall ;' 
drained  of  the  water  therein  contained,  by  the  action  of  wind  an- 
weather,  in  such  wise  that,  during  the  space  of  twenty-one  yean 
ihe  bed  or  site  of  the  said  dam  became  derelict  by  slow  and  in; 
perceptible  degrees ;  save  and  except  that  by  a  certain  severe  tenc! 
pest,  about  the  period  of  the  vernal  equinox,  in  the  year  sever ' 

teen   hundred   and  ,  the  actual   date   not   being   precise!; 

known,  a  portion  of  the  said  dam  was  carried  away  ;  which,  bein 
the  act  of  God,  that  doth  no  man  harm,  it  is  considered  ought  no 
to  prejudice  the  rights  of  the  parties  ;  and  the  more  especially  a 
it  hath  appeared  to  these  arbitrators,  that  the  said  mill-dam  ha 
before  that  time  fallen  into  desuetude,  and,  notwithstanding  th 
said  tempest,  would,  in  the  nature  of  things,  have  dwindled  dowr 
contracted,  and  wasted  away  into  the  present  natural  and  origins 
channel  of  the  said  Apple-pie  Branch.  And  further,  it  hath  aj 
peared  that  neither  of  the  said  parties  litigant  — " 

"  I  will  alter  the  word  here  also,"  said  Philly,  taking  the  per 
and  inserting  the  same  periphrasis  as  before. 

Mr.  Tracy  nodded,  and  the  counsellor  proceeded — 

—  "Has  had  occasion,  during  the  time  aforesaid,  to  exercis 
any  acts  of  ownership  over  the  said  land,  seeing  that  the  sam 
was  barren  and  unproductive,  and  altogether  unfit  for  an 
purpose  of  tillage, — " 


THK     AWAIID.  245 

'•  True,"  said  Mr.  Tracy. 

—  '-Therefore  the  said  arbitrators,  carefully  wcigliing  the 
aid  several  facts  with  full  and  ample  consideration,  and  having 
eard  all  that  the  said  Isaac  Tracy  on  the  one  side,  and  Edward 
Hazard,  for  and  on  behalf  of  the  said  Francis  Meriwether,  on  the 
other  side,  had  to  urge  iu  respect  of  their  said  several  preten- 
sions—  " 

'•  Devilish  little  on  behalf  of  Frank  !"  whispered  Ned  Hazard. 

— "Do,  in  virtue  of  the  powers  vested  in  them  by  this  refer- 
ence, award,  adjudge,  and  determine,  for  the  complete  and  final 
ending  of  the  said  dispute,  and  for  the  quieting  of  actions  pi  all 
time  to  come,  that  the  land  so  left  by  the  recession  of  the  waters 
as  aforesaid,  shall  henceforth  be  deemed  and  taken  as  followeth, 
that  is  to  saj ;  all  that  piece  or  parcel  of  land  lying  eastwardly 
between  the  bank  of  the  said  Apple-pie  Branch,  as  the  same  now 
exists,  and  the  former  margin  of  the  said  mill-dam,  bounding  on 
the  line  of  the  tract  called  the  Brakes,  is  hereby  declared  to  have 
reverted  to  the  original  proprietors  of  the  said  tract  called  the 
Brakes,  to  them  and  their  heirs  for  ever :  and  that  the  main 
channel  of  the  said  Apple-pie  Branch  shall  be  the  only  true  and 
established  conterminous  boundary  line  of  the  said  tracts  of  the 
Brakes  and  Swallow  Barn  respectively." 

'•  Very  conclusive  and  satisfactory  !"  cried  Mr.  Tracy,  rising 
from  his  chair. 

"  There  you  are,  gentlemen,"  said  Philly,  throwing  the  paper 
down  upon  the  table,  "  exactly  in  statu  quo  ante  helium.  It  is 
a  great  thing,  Mr.  Swansdown,  to  pacify  these  border  feuds." 

"  I  have  always  permitted  myself,"  replied  the  worthy  thus 
addressed,  -to  indulge  the  hope  that  our  intercession  would 
prove  advantageous  to  the  permanent  interests  of  the  families. 
It  has  been  a  case,  certainly,  attended  with  its  difficulties ;  and 
has  given  rise  to  some  curious  and  recondite  principles  of  juris- 
prudence." 


246  THE     AWARD. 

"  Very  curious  and  recondite  !"  said  Philly,  looking  archly  : 
around  him.  "  It  has  been  a  perfect  drag-net  case.  We  have  1 
fished  up  a  great  deal  of  law,  my  dear  sir!" 

"  I  confess  I  have  been  sadly  puzzled,"  replied  Swansdown,  j 
"  with  the  intricacies  of  this  whole  proceeding."  ! 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Philly.  "  But  you  have  had  much  the  \ 
worst  of  it.  For  there,  in  the  first  placCj  you  were  lost  in  the  ; 
brambles  ;  then,  you  were  soused  in  the  mud ;  and  after  that,  i 
you  were  torn  with  briers  :  you  have  some  of  the  marks  upon  your  \ 
face  yet.  Then,  you  lost  entirely  our  chase  of  the  fox  ;  but  I  i 
believe  you  are  not  fond  of  that,  sir  ?"  •  j 

"  These  were  trifles,"  replied  the  other.  "  I  alluded  to  the  ' 
conflicting  opinions."  I 

"  I  understood  you,"  interrupted  the  lawyer.  "  It  takes  a ' 
good  nose  and  a  fleet  foot  to  follow  one  of  these  little  old-fashioned  ' 
ejectments  through  its  doublings." 

Saying  this,  Philly  opened  the  door  of  the  study,  and  walked  t 
into  the  hall,  wiping  his  spectacles  with  his  handkerchief^  and ; 
casting  strange  and  comic  looks  upon  Hazard,  Harvey,  and  myself,  I 
who  followed  him.  He  was  highly  excited  with  the  proceedings  \ 
of  the  morning,  and  being  relieved  from  the  restraint  of  Mr. ! 
Tracy's  presence,  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  by  amusing  remarks,.! 
and  a  sly,  half-quiet,  and  half  jocular  demeanor,  which  never  broke^^ 
out  into  any  open  fit  of  laughter,  nor  yet  fell  to  the  level  of  his ' 
ordinary  calmness.  i 

It  was  now  the  family  dinner-hour,  and  the  household  asscm- j 
bled  in  one  of  the  parlors,  where  the  result  of  tlie  arbitration  was  | 
made  known,  and  gave  rise  to  a  great  deal  of  animated  conversa- 
tion. I 

The  behavior  of  Mr.  Tracy  at  the  dinner-table  was  punctilious 
and  precise.  He  was  even  more  lavish  than  usual  of  the  personal 
civilities  that  characterize  his  manners  at  all  times ;  and  it  was 


THE     AWARD.  247 

observable,  that  during  the  whole  time  that  he  mingled  in  the 
family  groups  where  the  decision  which  had  just  been  made  was 
a  subject  of  constant  recurrence,  he  never  permitted  an  expression 
relating  to  it  to  escape  his  lips.  He  sat  but  a  few  moments  after 
the  cloth  was  drawn,  leaving  the  table  in  the  occupation  of  his 
company,  and  retired  to  the  study,  where  he  employed  himself 
amongst  the  papers  belonging  to  the  law-suit. 

As  the  long  afternoon  wore  away,  the  boundary  line  and  all 
its  concerns  were  forgotten  ;  and  our  party  fell  into  the  various 
amusements  their  situation  afforded.  At  length,  the  hour  came 
for  our  return  to  Swallow  Barn.  Prudence,  at  the  persuasion  of 
the  ladies,  had  consented  to  remain  during  the  night.  Ned  Haz- 
ard informed  Mr.  Tracy  that  he  was  requested  by  Meriwether  to 
I  invite  the  whole  family,  with  Mr.  Swansdown,  to  dinner  at  Swal- 
I  low  Barn  the  next  day.  The  old  gentleman  expressed  great 
pleasure  in  accepting  the  invitation,  and  the  rest  promised  to  keep 
the  appointment  without  fail. 

Having  dispatched  these  matters,  Mr.  "Wart  and  Rip  mounted 
their  horses,  and  rode  slowly  down  the  hill  from  the  mansion. 
But  just  as  Hazard,  who  had  delayed  a  moment  after  his  comrades, 
was  leaving  the  door,  his  horse,  grown  restive  by  seeing  his  two 
companions  moving  off,  after  neighing,  and  tossing  up  his  head, 
and  champing  his  bit,  made  a  sudden  start,  broke  his  bridle,  and 
went  off  at  full  speed,  leaping  and  flinging  himself  into  wild  and 
playful  motions  as  he  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  road. 

All  pursuit  was  vain.  And  as  it  was  apparent  that  he  would 
make  the  best  of  his  way  to  his  own  stable,  Ned  got  into  the  car- 
riage with  the  little  girls  and  myself ;  and,  followed  by  Wilful, 
we  were  wheeled  off  from  the  Brakes  as  rapidly  as  old  Carey 
could  urge  his  mettlesome  cattle  forward. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 


THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP. 


n 


m 


The  sun  was  not  above  half  an'hour  higli  when  we  took  our  depar-  , 
ture  from  the  Brakes  ;  and  the  heat  of  the  atmosphere  was  begin-  i  ; 
ning  to  yield  to  the  partial  distillation  of  the  dew,  and  the  slow  ; 
invasion  of  the  night  breeze.  The  road  lay  principally  along  the  \ 
river,  upon  a  bank  some  ten  or  twelve  feet  above  the  tide,  shaded  ! 
with  low  black-jacks,  dogwood,  cedar,  or  tall  pines.  It  occasionally  ; 
digressed  to  head  an  inlet,  or  thread  a  brake ;  and  sometimes  ! 
extended,  with  a  single  meandering  track,  through  the  neighboring  ' 
fields,  which  were  guarded, — according  to  a  common  arrangement 
in  the  Old  Dominion, — by  a  succession  of  peculiarly  inconvenient, 
rickety,  and  weather-worn  gates,  that  dragged  heavily  upon  their 
wooden  hinges,  and  swung  to  again,  with  a  misdirected  aim  at 
their  awkward  bolts,  to  the  imminent  peril  of  the  tails  of  all  way- 
faring animals  that  travelled  through  them. 

In  a  short  time,  we  reached  a  point  where  the  read  turned  <.     -, 
abruptly  from  the  river  and  took  an  inland  direction,  making  a  '     l 
circuit  of  a  mile  or  more,  to  pass  the  famous  Apple-pie,  \7hich  it 
does  at  some  distance  below  the  old  mill,  so  conspicuous  in  my 
former  sketches.     At  this  turn  Ned  Hazard  proposed  that  we  |      ^ 
should  perform  the  rest  of  our  journey  on  foot.     He  wished  to 
show  me  the  Goblin  Swamp  ;  a  region  of  marsh,  about  half  a  mile 


THE     GO  U  LIN     SWAMP.  240 

distant,  formed  hy  tlio  diffusion  of  the  Apple-pie  over  the  flat 
grounds,  near  its  confluence  with  the  James  River.  An  old  road 
bad  once  traversed  the  swamp  at  this  place ;  and  the  remains  of 
ihe  causeway  were  yet,  Ned  afl&rmed,  sufficiently  solid  to  afford  a 
DESsage  to  pedestrians  ;  besides,  the  Goblin  Swamp  showed  to 
jreat  advantage  about  twilight. 

We  accordingly  committed  our  little  companions  to  the  guar- 
lianship  of  Carey  ;  and,  quitting  the  coach,  entered  a  wood  that 
)ordered  the  road,  where  we  soon  found  ourselves  involved  in  a 
abyriuth  of  young  pine-trees  springing  up  so  close  together  as 
Imost  to  forbid  a  passage  through  them.  The  ground  was 
trewed  with  a  thick  coat  of  pine-straw, — as  the  yellow  sheddings 
f  this  tree  are  called, — so  slippery  as  to  render  it  difficult  to  walk 
iver  it ;  and  the  tangled  branches  caught  in  our  clothes,  and  fre- 
uently  struck  our  hats  from  our  heads.  But  we  succeeded  at 
ast  in  gaining  an  obscure  path,  so  much  embowered  in  shade  as 
0  be  scarcely  discernible.  This  conducted  us  through  the  mazes 
f  the  wood,  and  in  a  few  moments  we  emerged  upon  the  confines 
f  an  open  country. 

Before  us  lay  a  plain,  surrounded  by  forest  which  in  front 
owered  above  a  copse  that  sprang  from  an  extensive  marsh  at  the 
arther  extremity  of  the  plain.  The  earth  was  clothed  with  a 
lin  vesture  of  parched  grass  ;  and  the  still  distinct  furrows  of 
ncient  cornfields  furnished  proof  that  the  tract  had  been,  at  some 
lemote  period,  under  cultivation,  but  long  since  abandoned,  per- 
aps  on  account  of  its  sterility.  A  few  clumps  of  meagre  persim- 
lon-trees  were  scattered  over  this  forsaken  region,  and  deep 
Tillies,  washed  into  the  gravelly  soil,  exposed  to  view  its  signal 
overty. 

Somewhere  near  the  middle  of  this  open  ground  stood  a  soli- 
ary,  low  brick  chimney,  conspicuous  for  its  ample  fire-place,  and 
urrounded  by  a  heap  of  ruins,  to  which  a  more  striking  air  of 
11* 


250  THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP. 

desolation  was  added  by  a  luxuriant  growth  of  weeds  that 
taken  root  in  the  rank  compost  formed  by  the  wreck  of  household 
timber.  Amongst  these  relics  of  former  habitation  were  the  ves- 
tiges of  a  draw-well,  choked  by  the  wash  of  the  land ;  the  weeds 
sprang  from  its  mouth ;  and  the  tall  post,  with  the  crotch  in  its 
upper  extremity,  still  supported  the  long  piece  of  timber  thai 
balanced  the  bucket,  according  to  a  device  yet  in  use  in  manj 
parts  of  the  country.  Immediately  around  the  ruin,  in  what  waf 
once  the  curtilage  of  the  dwelling,  a  few  crabbed  fruit-trees,  witl; 
chalky  joints,  and  bowed  down  with  years,  flung  their  almost  leaf  i 
less  and  distorted  limbs  athwart  the  mouldering  homestead f 
There  were  also  to  be  seen,  about  fifty  paces  off,  a  black  heap  o  I 
dross,  and  some  faint  traces  of  the  nre  of  a  former  smithy,  o ' 
which  the  evidence  was  more  unequivocal  in  the  remains  of  a  door! 
on  which  was  burnt  the  figure  of  a  horse-shoe.  ■ 

"When  we  arrived  at  this  spot  the  sun  was  just  peering,  witlj 
his  enlarged  disk,  through  the  upper  branches  of  the  trees,  in  tb; 
western  horizon.     The  clouds  were  gorgeous  with  the  golden  an*| 
purple  tints  that  give  such  magnificence  to  our  summer  evenings  j 
and  the  waning  light,  falling  on  the  volume  of  forest  around  ml 
communicated  a  richer  gloom  to  its  shades,  and  magnified  thil 
gigantic  branches  of  some  blasted  oaks  on  the  border  of  the  plsum}    iitb 
as  they  were  seen  relieved  against  the  clear  sky.     Long  an«i 
distorted  shadows  fell  from  every  weed,  bush,  and  tree,  and  corj 
tributed,  with  the  forlorn  aspect  of  the  landscape,  to  impress  u- 
with  an  undefined  and  solemn  sensation,  that  for  a  moment  thrc , 
us  into  silence.     Flights  of  crows  traversed  the  air  above  ou 
heads,  and  sang  out  their  discordant  vespers,  as  they  plied  thei 
way  to  a  distant  roost ;  the  fish-hawk  had  perched  upon  the  hig) 
est  naked  branch  of  the  tallest  oak,  and  at  intervals  was  seen  1 
stretch  forth  his  wing  and  ruffle  his  feathers,  as  if  adjusting  b 
position  for  the  night.     All  animated  objects  that  inhabited  th 


mt 


UK 


m 


H 

m 

ail 


THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP.  251 

•egion  seemed  to  be  busy  with  individual  cares  ;  aud  the  noctur- 
lal  preparations  for  rest  or  prey  resounded  from  every  quarter. 

Hazard,  taking  advantage  of  the  impression  made  by  the 
ombre  imagery  around  us,  as  we  marched  onward  to  the  ruin, 
hrew  out  some  hints  that  we  were  now  upon  a  haunted  spot,  and 
)egan  to  converse  in  a  lower  tone,  and  walk  closer  to  my  side, 
nth  an  air  of  mystery  and  fear,  put  on  to  sort  with  the  nature  of 
he  story  he  was  telling.  The  ruin,  he  informed  me,  was  formerly 
he  habitation  of  Mike  Brown,  who  had  strange  doings  with  the 
^evil,  and  both  Mike  and  his  companion  were  frequently  seen  in 
he  swamp  after  dark ;  the  negroes,  he  said,  and  many  of  the 
rhite  people  about  the  country,  held  this  place  in  great  terror ; 
rhich,  he  believed,  was  one  reason  why  the  road  that  formerly 
rossed  the  marsh  at  this  place,  had  been  disused.  Certainly, 
he  devil  and  Mike  Brown  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  secluded 
nd  barren  waste  for  their  pranks. 

1  At  length  we  reached  the  opposite  side  of  the  plain,  where  it 
i)ecame  necessary  to  halt,  and  examine  more  minutely  our  road. 
\"ed  was  under  great  embarrassment  to  discover  the  old  causeway. 
Che  shrubbery  had  grown  up  so  thick  as  to  render  this  a  task  of 
mcertain  accomplishment.  There  were  several  paths  leading 
uto  the  morass,  made  by  the  tramp  of  cattle.  These  so  far 
perplexed  my  companion,  that  he  was  obliged  to  confess  his  igno- 
ance  of  the  right  way.  We  determined',  however,  to  go  on  ;  the 
pproaching  night  began  already  to  darken  our  view,  and  the 
ludertaking  seemed  to  be  sufficiently  perilous,  even  in  daylight, 
kept  pace  with  Hazard,  and  shared  with  him  the  difficulties  of 
,  path  that  at  every  step  became  more  intricate ;  until,  at  last, 
fe  found  ourselves  encompassed  by  deep  pools  of  stagnant  water, 
vith  a  footing  no  better  than  that  afforded  by  a  mossy  islet, 
carcely  large  enough  for  one  person  to  stand  upon,  where  we 
Ycre  obliged  to  cling  to  the  bushes  for  support ;  whilst  the  soft 


252  THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP.  , 

texture  of  the  earth  yielded  to  our  weight,  and  let  in  the  watei 
above  our  shoe-tops. 

Here  Ned  began  to  swear  that  the  place  was  strangely  alfcerec  • 
since  he  had  last  visited  it,  and  to  charge  himself  with  a  loss  o 
memory,  in  not  knowing  better  how  to  get  through  this  wilder 
ness.     He  protested  that  Mike  Brown  or  his  comrade  had  be ; 
witched  him,  and  brought  him  into  this  dilemma,  as  a  punishmen" ', 
for  his  rashness.    "  I  wish  their  devilships,"  he  continued,  "  woulc  i 
condescend  to  favor  us  with  the  assistance  of  one  of  their  imps 
until  we  might  arrive  safely  beyond  the  confines  of  their  cursec 
dominion.     What  ho,  good  Mr.    Belzebub !"  he  cried  out  jocu' 
larly,  "  have  you  no  mercy  on  two  foolish  travellers  ?" 

Ned  had  no  sooner  made  this  invocation,  which  he  did  at  tht 
top  of  his  voice,  than  we  heard,  at  a  distance  from  us,  the  indisl 
tinct  rustling  of  leaves,  as  of  one  brushing  through  them,  and  th' 
frequent  plash  of  a  footstep  treading  through  the  marsh.  Th'"; 
sounds  indicated  the  movement  of  the  object  towards  us,  and  ii 
became  obvious  that  something  was  fast  making  its  way  to  th : 
spot  where  we  stood.  ' 

"Truly,"  said  Ned,  "  that  Mr.  Belzebub  is  a  polite  and  civi' 
demon.  He  scarce  has  notice  of  our  distresses,  before  he  come: 
himself  to  relieve  them."  , 

By  this  time  a  grotesque  figure  became  faintly  visible  throug.i' 
the  veil  of  twigs  and  branches  that  enveloped  us.     All  that  w 
could  discern  was  the  murky  outline  of  something  resembling 
man.     His  stature  was  uncommonly  low  and  broad  ;  apparentl ; 
he  wore  no  coat,  and  upon  what  seemed  his  head  was  an  ode 
shaped  cap,  that  fitted  closely  to  his  skull. 

"  Who  goes  there?"  cried  Ned  briskly,  as  the  figure  came  t 
a  halt,  and  looked  wildly  about ;  "  ghost  or  devil  ?" 

"  Neither,"  replied  the  figure,  with  a  husky  voice, — such  4 
that  of  a  man  with  a  bad  cold, — and  at  the  same  instant  steppic 


THi:     GOBLIN     SWAMP.  253 

in   )oldly  before  us,  "  but  an  old  sinner,  who  is   a  little  of  both :  a 
ort  of  castaway,  that  has  more  gray  hairs  than  brains ;  yet  not 

14    0  much  of  a  buzzard  as  to  be  ignorant  that  the  round-about  way 

;si  |s  often  the  nearest  home."     Hereupon,  the  figure  broke  out  into 
loud,  hollow,  and  unnatural  laugh. 
"  What,  Hafcn  1     Is  it  possible  ?  what,  in   the  name  of  the 

aj  |oul  fiend,  brings  you  here?"  cried  out  Ned,  recognizing  the 
peaker,  who  was  Hafen  Blok,  a  short,  thick-set,  bandy-legged 
ersonage,  bearing  all  the  marks  of  an  old  man,  with  a  strangely 
reather-beaten  face,  intersected  by  as  many  drains  as  the  rugged 
lope  of  a  sand-hill.  He  had  a  large  mouth,  disfigured  with  tobac- 
0,  and  unprovided  with  any  show  of  teeth.  He  had  moreover  a 
mall  upturned  nose,  a  low  forehead,  and  diminutive  eyes  that 
;listened  beneath  projecting  brows  of  grizzled  and  shaggy  hair. 
•"or  a  man  verging  upon  sixty-five,  his  frame  was  uncommonly 
igorous  ;  although  it  was  apparent  that  he  was  lame  of  one  leg. 
lis  headgear,  which  had  attracted  our  attention  even  at  a  dis- 
ance,  was  nothing  more  than  the  remnant  of  an  antique  cocked 
|iat,  now  divested  of  its  flaps,  so  as  to  form  a  close,  round  cap. 
lis  scraggy  throat  was  covered  with  a  prurient  beard  of  half  an 
Qch  in  length,  and  laid  open  to  view  between  the  collar  of  a  coarse 
»rown  shirt.  Across  his  arm  was  flung  a  coat  of  some  homely 
iiaterial,  with  huge  metal  buttons  appearing  to  view ;  and  his 
rowsers  and  shoes  were  covered  with  the  mud  of  the  swamp.  A 
)elt  crossed  his  shoulder,  to  which  was  suspended  a  bag  of  herap- 
m  cloth ;  and  in  his  hand  he  bore  two  or  three  implements  for 
Tapping.  There  was  a  saucy  waggishness  in  his  gestures,  of 
vhich  the  efi"ect  was  heightened  by  the  fox-like  expression  of  his 
jjountenance,  and  the  superlatively  vagabond  freedom  of  his  man- 
lers. 

"  You  are  well  met,  Hafen,"  continued  Ned.  '•  The  devil  of 
the  swamp  could  never  have  sent  us  a  better  man.  How  are  we 
to  get  through  the  bog  ?" 


254  THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP. 

"  It  is  easy  enough,  Mister  Ned  Hazard,  for  a  traveller  wh 
knows  a  tussock  from  a  bulrush,"  replied  Hafen. 

"  And  pray,  how  old  should  he  he  to  arrive  at  that  kno\^ 
ledge?" 

"  He  should  be  old  enough  to  catch  a  black  snake  in  the  wate: 
Mister  Ned ;  or,  at  least,  he  ought  to  have  cut  his  eye-teeth,"  sai 
Hafen,  with  another  of  his  strange,  hollow  laughs. 

"  Save  your  jest  for  dry  land,  old  fellow  !"  interrupted  Hazarc 
"  and  tell  us  plainly  how  we  shall  find  our  way  to  Swallow  Bar 
without  going  round." 

"  They  who  have  the  folly  to  get  in,  ought  to  carry  wit  enough 
with  them  to  get  out,"  replied  Hafen  dryly.  '*- 

'•  Come,  old  gentleman,"  said  Ned,  with  a  tone  of  entreats 
"  we  shall  take  an  ague  if  you  keep  us  here.  It  grows  late ;  air 
if  we  can  save  a  mile  by  crossing  the  swamp,  who  knows  bi 
you  may  be  all  the  better  for  it  when  we  get  safe  to  the  oth(' 
side?" 

"  You  see,  sir,"  said  Hafen,  with  more  respect  in  his  manm; 
than  before,  "  a  fool's  counsel  is  sometimes  worth  the  weighing' 
but  an  old  dog,  you  know.  Mister  Ned,  can't  alter  his  way  of  bar' 
ing ;  so  you  and  that  gentleman  must  excuse  my  saucy  tongttf! 
and  if  you  will  follow  me,  I  will  put  you  across  the  swamp  as  clci': 
as  a  bridge  of  gold.  Though  I  don't  mean  to  insinuate.  Mist' 
Hazard,  that  you  couldn't  soon  learn  the  way  yourself"  | 

Saying  this,  he  conducted  us  back  to  the  margin  of  the  mars 
and  passing  some  distance  higher  up,  entered  the  thicket  aga 
by  the  path  of  the  old  causeway,  along  which  we  proceeded  wi 
no  other  caution  than  carefully  to  step  in  the  places  pointed  o'" 
by  Hafen,  who  led  the  way  with  the  vigorous  motion  of  a  man 
the  prime  of  life  ;  and  in  a  brief  space  we  found  ourselves  in  safe 
on  the  opposite  side. 

Here  we  gave  our  guide  a  liberal  reward  for  his  servic, 
which  so  elated  the  old  man  as  to  rouse  all  his  talkativeness. 


i\ 


m 


THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP,  255 

Hafcn  is  a -person  of  some  notoriety  in  this  district.     He  is  a 
lessian  by  birth,  and  came  to  America  with  Count  Donop,  during 
he  war  of  the  Kevolution,  as  a  drummer,  not  above  fourteen  years 
Id ;  and  he  was  present  at  the  action  at  Red  Bank  on  the  Dela- 
rare,  when  that  unfortunate  officer  met  his  fate.     He  was  after- 
wards engaged  in  the  southern  campaigns,  when  he  found  means 
■»  desert  to  the  American  lines  in  time  to  witness  the  surrender 
f  Lord  Cornwallis.     At  the  close  of  the  war  Hafen  took  up  his 
uarters  in  the  neighborhood  of  Williamsburg,  where  he  set  up 
he  trade  of  a  tinker,  as  being  most  congenial  with  his  vagrant 
ropeusities.     Being   a    tolerable   performer   on   the   violin,  he 
ontrived  to  amass  a  sufficient  capital  to  purchase  an  instrument, 
rith  which  he  ever  afterwards  sweetened  his  cares  and  divided 
is  business,  wandering  through  the  country,  where  he  mended 
lie  kettles,  and  fiddled   himself  into  the  good  graces,  of  every 
amily  within  the  circuit  of  his  peregrinations.     This  career  was 
pterrupted  by  but  one  episode,  which  happened   in  the  year 
pventeen  hundred  and  ninety-one,  when,  being  attacked  by  an 
nusual  restlessness,  he  enlisted  in  the  army,  and  marched  with 
ft.    Clair    against  the  Indians.     The  peppering  he  got  in  the 
isastrous   event  of  that  expedition,  brought  him  home  in  the 
llowing  year  with  a  more  pacific  temper  and  a  lame  leg.     It  was 
ke  Cincinnatus  returning  to  his  plough.     He  took  up  his  nippers 
lid  fiddle  again,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  afiairs  of  the  kitchen 
nd  parlor.     Being  one  of  those  mortals  whose  carelessness  of 
ccommodation  is  mathematically  proportioned  to  their  aversion 
0  labor,  Hafen  was  equally  idle  and  ragged,  and  contrived  gener- 
Uy,  by  a  shrewd  and  droll  humor,  to  keep  himself  in  good  quar- 
ers,  though  upon  a  footing  that  rendered  him  liable  at  all  times 
0  be  dismissed  without  ceremony.     He  has  always  been  distin- 
jj'uished  for  his  stores  of  old  ballads ;  and  the  women  about  the 
amilies  where  he  gained  a  seat  in  the  corner  of  the  kitchen  fire, 
vera  indebted  to  him  for  the  most  accepted  versions  of  the  Grosport 


256  THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP. 

I 

Tragedy,  Billy  Taylor,  and  some  other  lamentable  ditties  recorc 
ing  the  fates  of  "  true  lovyers"  and  "  ladies  fair  and  free,"  whic 
he  taught  them  to  sing  in  long  metre,  with  a  touching  sadnes 
and  agreeably  to  their  authentic  nasal  tunes.  Besides  this,  L 
was  the  depositary  of  much  of  the  legendary  lore  of  the  neighbo 
hood,  picked  up  from  the  old  people  of  the  Revolutionary  time 
and,  according  to  his  own  account,  he  had  a  familiar  acquaintan( 
with  sundry  witches,  and  was  on  good  terms  with  every  reputah 
ghost  that  haunted  any  house  along  the  James  river. 

These  characteristics  gave  him  many  immunities,  and  ofte 
gained  him  access  to  bower  and  hall ;  and  as  he  was  gifted  wil 
a  sagacity  which  always  knew  how  to  flatter  his  patrons,  he  wj; 
universally  regarded  as  a  well-meaning,  worthless,  idle   strolle 
who,  if  he  could  not  make  himself  useful,  was  at  least  in  nobodjij 
way.     On   all  festive  occasions  his  violin  was  an  ample  recoil 
mendation  ;  and  as  he  could   tell  fortunes,  and  sing  queer  o' 
songs,  he  was  connected  in  the  imaginations  of  the  younger  foil 
with  agreeable  associations.     From  these  causes  he  was  seldom 
an  unwelcome  visitant ;  and  not  being  fastidious  on  the  score 
personal  entertainment,  he  was  well  content  to  get  his  supper 
the  kitchen,  a  dram, — for  which  he  had  the  craving  of  the  daug 
ter  of  the  horseleech, — and  the  privilege  of  a  corner  in  the  ha 
loft. 

Of  late  Hafen  had  lost  some  favor  by  his  increasing  propei 
sity  for  drink,  and  by  the  suspicion,  that  stood  upon  pretty  stroi 
proofs,  of  not  being  over  scrupulous  in  his  regard  for  the  riglj 
of  property.  Besides,  for  many  years  past,  his  tinkering  h 
fallen  into  disuse,  by  reason,  as  he  said,  of  these  Yankee  pedlc 
breaking  up  his  honest  calling.  So  that,  at  this  time,  Hafen  m 
be  considered  like  an  old  hound  whose  nose  has  grown  cold.  E 
employments  are,  in  consequence,  of  a  much  more  miscellaneo 
character  than  formerly. 


THE     GOCLIN     SWAMP.  257 

Such  was  the  individual  who  had  rescued  us  from  the  perils 
:  the  swamp,  and  who  now,  having  brought  us  to  firm  ground, 
-^  lad  no  further  pretext  for  keeping  our  company.  But  he  was  not 
)  easily  shaken  ofi".  His  predominant  love  of  gossip  took  advan- 
.  ge  of  the  encouragement  he  had  already  met,  and  he  therefore 
rode  resolutely  in  our  footsteps,  a  little  in  the  rear,  talking 
irtly  to  himself  and  partly  to  us,  without  receiving  any  response, 
t  length,  finding  that  no  further  notice  was  likely  to  be  taken 
'  him.  he  ventured  to  say,  in  a  doubtful  tone — 
I  "  The  next  time  the  gentlemen  have  a  fancy  to  cross  this  vtay, 
i^rhaps  they'll  think  a  few  pennies  in  the  tinker's  pouch,  better 
[an  a  pair  of  swamp  stockings." 

'    "  And  many  thanks  beside,  Hafen,"  said  I.     "  But  how  came 
a  to  be  so  close  at  hand  this  evening?" 

"  0  sir,"  replied  Hafen,  availing  himself  of  this  overture,  and 
ming  up  to  our  side,  "  bless  you !  this  is  a  quite  natural  sort  of 
ace  to  me.  I  am  too  good  for  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  spirits, 
ir  I  am  not  worth  the  devil's  fetching,  sir ;"  here  he  laughed  in 
s  usual  singular  way.  "The  swamp  is  a  very  good  mother  to 
e,  although  I  am  a  simple  body,  and  can  pick  up  a  penny  where 
ch  folks  would  never  think  of  looking  for  it." 
,    "How  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"  There  is  a  power  of  muskrats  about  these  parts,  sir,"  he  re- 
ied,  "'  and  with  the  help  of  these  tools,"  holding  up  his  snares, 
I  can  sometimes  gather  a  few  ninepences  with  no  more  cost  than 
jwet  pair  of  breeches,  which  is  fisherman's  luck,  sir,  and  of  no 
■count,  excepting  a  little  rheumatism,  and  not  even  that,  if  a  man 
IS  plenty  of  this  sort  of  physic." 

So  saying,  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  bag.  and  pulled  out  a 
;'een  flask  that  contained  a  small  supply  of  whiskey. 

"  Perhaps  the  gentlemen  wouldn't  be  above  taking  a  taste  them- 
(Ives  ?"  he  continued,  "  for  it's  a  mighty  fine  thing  against  the 
irue." 


258  THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP. 

We  excused  ourselves  ;  and  Hafen  put  the  flask  to  his  mou 
and  smacking  his  lips  as  he  concluded  his  draught,  observed — 

"  It's  a  kind  of  milk  for  old  people,  and  not  bad  for  you , 
ones." 

"What  success  have  you  had  to-day,  with    your  traps?" 
inquired. 

"  I  have  come  ofl"  poorly,"  he  replied  ;  "  the  vermin  are  gett 
shy,  and  not  like  what  they  used  to  be.     Now,  I  have  got  no  m  : 
than  two  rats.     Some  days  even  I  don't  get  that  much." 

"  Then,  I  take  it,  Hafen,  you  do  not  thrive  much  in  the  worl 
I  remarked. 

"  Ah,  sir,"  replied  Hafen,  still  holding  the  flask  in  his  ha  . 
and  beginning  to  moralize,  "  it  is  a  great  help  to  a  man's  c  • 
science  to  know  that  he  earns  his  bread  lawfully :  a  poor  mi  3 
honesty  is  as  good  as  a  rich  man's  gold.  I  am  a  hobbling  sor  f 
person,  and  no  better  than  I  ought  to  be,  but  I  never  saw  if  \ 
good  come  out  of  deceit.  Virtue  is  its  own  reward,  as  the  para 
says  ;  and  away  goes  the  devil  when  he  finds  the  door  shut  aga::t 
him.  I  am  no  scholar,  but  I  have  found  that  out  without  rul- 
ing books — "  ■ 

At  this  moment  the  half-smothered  cluck  of  a  fowl  was  htd 
from  Hafen's  bag. 

"God  never  sends  mouths,"  continued  Hafen,  "but  he  sds 
meat,  and  any  man  who  has  sense  enough  to  be  honest,  will  m'T 
want  wit  to  know  how  to  live ;  but  he  m\ist  plough  with  i  h 
oxen  as  he  has :  some  people  have  bad  names,  but  all  are  )t 
thieves  that  dogs  bark  at." 

"  So,  you  have  only  taken  two  muskrats  to-day?"  said  M- 
"  Have  you  nothing  else  in  the  bag?" 

"Nothing  else.  Mister  Hazard." 

"  Are  they  dead  or  alive  ?"  asked  Ned. 

"  Oh  dead  !  dead  as  old  Adam  !  they  were  swinging  by  l.'Jr 
necks  long  enough  to  strangle  nine  lives  out  of  them." 


THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP.  259 

"  This  swamp  is  haunted,  Hafen/'  said  Ned  archly. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied   Hafen,  "  there   are   certainly   some  queer 
^}.  (loings  here  sometimes.     But,  for  my  share,  I  never  saw   any 
'.liing  in  these  hobgoblins   to  make  an  honest  man  afraid.     All 
:hat  you  have  to  do  is  to  say  your  prayers,  and  that  will  put 
vny  devilish  thing  out  of  heart." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  dead  muskrat,"  asked  Ned,  "  to  be 
hanged  into  a  live  pullet?  Now,  master  honest  tinker!  I  can 
Jonjure  up  a  devil  to  do  that  very  thing." 

Here  Hafen  put  on  a  comic  leer,  and  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
IS  if  collecting  himself,  whilst  he  was  heard  giving  out  a  confused 
{buckling  laugh.     At  length  he  observed, — 

"  Mister  Ned  Hazard  has  always  got  some  trick.  I  often  tell 
■oiks  Mister  Hazard  is  a  pleasant  man." 

"  See  now,"  said  Hazard,  striking  the  bag  with  his  hand, 
'  does  not  that  sound  marvellously  like  a  clucking  hen  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  grant  you,"  exclaimed  Hafen,  assuming  a  tone  of  sur- 
jrise,  '•  I  had  like  to  have  forgotten ;  when  I  said  there  was 
aothing  but  the  rats  in  my  bag,  I  set  no  account  upon  a  pullet 
:hat  Sandy  Walker  gave  me  this  evening,  for  putting  a  few  rivets 
n  his  copper  still." 

"  Come,  Hafen,"  said  Ned,  "  no  lies  amongst  friends.  Sandy 
^"^alker  never  owned  a  still  in  his  life." 

"  Did  I  say  a  still.  Mister  Hazard  1  I  spoke  in  a  sort  of  un- 
3ertain  way,  which  was  as  much  as  to  signify, — "  said  Hafen, 
puzzling  his  brain  for  a  better  account  of  the  matter,  and  twisting 
jliis  face  into  some  shrewd  contortions,  which  at  last  ended  by  his 
|eoming  close  to  Hazard,  and  putting  his  finger  against  his  nose, 
as  he  said  in  a  half  whisper,  '•  it  was  an  old  grudge  against  Sandy 
that  I  had,  upon  account  of  his  abusing  me  before  company  for 
drinking,  and  insinuating  that  I  made  free  with  a  shirt  that  his 
wife  lost  from  the  line  in  a  high  wind,  last  April,  and  some  other 


260  THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP. 

old  scores  I  had.     So,  I  thought  a  pullet  was  small  damages 
enough  for  such  a  scandal.     Pick-up  law  is  the  cheapest  law  for 
poor  man,  Mister  Hazard ;  and  possession  is  nine  points  out  oi 
ten.     Isn't  that  true  ?"     Here  he  laughed  again. 

"  I  think  a  gentleman  who  brags  so  much  of  his  honesty  an* 
virtue,  might  practise  a  better  code.  But  as  between  you  an* 
Sandy,"  said  Ned,  "  your  merits  are  so  nearly  equal,  that  takvMaj 
what  you  can,  and  keep  what  you  get,  is  a  pretty  sound  rule  ;  alMin 
though  you  are  like  to  get  the  best  of  that  bargain." 

*'  Oh,"  replied  Hafen,  "  I  want  nothing  more  than  justice." 

The  night  was  now  closing  in  fast.     We  were  walking  alon. 
a  narrow  tongue  of  land  which  stretched  into  the  swamp,  froi 
the  bosom  of  which,  on  either  side,  arose  a  forest  of  lofty  tree; 
whose  topmost  branches  were  traced  upon  the  sky  with  that  bol 
configuration  that  may  be  remarked  at  the  twilight,  whilst  tb; 
dusk  rapidly  thickened  below,  and  flung  its  increasing  glooii 
upon  our  path.     Here  and  there  a  lordly  cypress  occurred  i: 
view,  springing  forth  from  the  stagnant  pool,  and  reposing  in  luril 
shade.     Half  sunk  in  ooze,  rotted  the  bole  and  bough  of  fallej 
trees,  coated  with  pendent  slime.     The  ground   over  which  ^ ' 
trod  took  an  easy  impression  from  our  footsteps  ;  and  the  chillir 
vapor  of  the  marsh,  mingled  with  the  heavy  dew,  was  to  be  fe 
in  the  dampness  of  our  clothes,  and  compelled  us  to  button  i 
our  coats. 

This  dreary  region  was  neither  silent  nor  inanimate  ;  but  ii 
inhabitants  corresponded  to  the  genius  of  the  place.  Clouds  . 
small  insects,  crossed  now  and  then  by  a  whizzing  beetle,  play* 
their  fantastic  gambols  around  our  heads,  displaying  their  minu 
and  active  forms  against  the  western  horizon,  as  they  marshullt 
us  upon  our  way.  The  night-hawk  arose,  at  intervals,  with 
hoarse  scream  into  this  fading  light,  and  swept  across  it  with  i 
graceful  motion,  sometimes  whirling  so  near  that  we  could  he 


i:ii 


tvi 


tl[4 


THE     GOD  LIN     SWAMP.  261 

he  rush  of  his  wing,  and  discern  the  white  and  spectral  spot  upon 

,  as  he  darted  past  our  eyes.     Thousands  of  fire-flies  lit  up  the 

loom,  and  sped  about  like  sprites  in  masquerade ;  at  one  mo- 

lent  lifting  their  masks,  as  if  to  allure  pursuit,  and  instantly 

gain  vanishing,  as  in  a  prankish  jest.     A  populous  congregation 

f  frogs  piped  from  the  secret  chambers  of  the  fen  with  might  and 

lain.     The  whip-poor-will  reiterated,  with  a  fatiguing  and  me- 

incholy  recurrence,  his  sharp  note  of  discord.     The  little  catadid 

ierced  the  air  with  his  shrill  music.     The  foxfire, — as  the  coun- 

"y  people  call  it, — glowed  hideously  from  the  cold  and  matted 

c  ^    3Som  of  the  marsh  ;  and,  far  from  us,  in  the  depths  of  darkness, 

pi.   16  screech-owl  sat  upon  his  perch,  brooding  over  the  slimy  pool, 

tysi    id  whooping  out  a  dismal  curfew,  that  fell  upon  the  air  like  the 

'ies  of  a  tortured  ghost. 

We  trudged  briskly  upon  our  way,  but  almost  without  ex- 

it*  hanging  words ;  for  the  assemblage  of  striking  objects  in  the 

wM    ;ene  had  lulled  us  into  silence.     I  do  not  wonder  that  a  solitary 

laveller  should  grow  superstitious,  amidst  such  incentives  to  his 

Liagination.     Hafen  followed  our  steps,  and,  as  I  fancied,  com- 

-     letely  subdued  by  faintheartedness.     I  thought  he  walked  closer 

:ai   p  our  skirts  than  a  man  perfectly  at  ease  would  do,  and  his  lo- 

)k    liacity  was  entirely  gone.     He  firmly  believed  in  the  stories  of 

a   ke  Goblin  Swamp,  and  I  was  anxious  to  get  them  from  his  own 

Ips,  as  Hazard  had  given  me  to  understand  that  I  could  not 

eet  a  better  chronicler.     With  this  purpose,  I  gave  him  timely 

_»    pcouragement  to  follow  us  to  Swallow  Barn.     And  now,  having 

if    assed  the  confines  of  the  wood,  we  found  but  little  to  attract  our 

Hention  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

"  You  must  tell  me  the  story  of  Mike  Brown  to-night,"  said  I 
A     )  Hafen,  as  I  invited  him  to  bear  us  company. 
-(t        In  an  instant,  Hafen's  imagination  was  full  of  the  comforts 
-il    |f  the  kitchen  at  Swallow  Barn,  as  well  as  of  the  self-consequence 


262  THE     GOBLIN     SWAMP. 

that  belongs  to  a  genuine  story-teller.  He  consented  with 
saucy  alacrity,  and  then  remarked, — 

"  That  the  gentlemen  always  knew  how  to  get  something  ' 
please  them  out  of  Hafen ;  and  that  he  always  did  like  himself- 
keep  company  with  quality." 

It  was  after  candlelight  when  we  arrived  at  Swallow  Barn. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


STORY-TELLING. 


[n  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  and  for  a  good  many  years  after- 
wards, Old  Nick  enjoyed  that  solid  popularity  which,  as  Lord 
Mansfield  expressed  it,  follows  a  man's  actions  rather  than  is 
sought  after  by  them.  But  in  our  time  he  is  manifestly  falling 
into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,  especially  in  the  Atlantic  States. 
Like  those  dilapidated  persons  who  have  grown  out  at  elbows  by 
[sticking  too  long  to  a  poor  soil,  or  who  have  been  hustled  out  of 
jtheir  profitable  prerogatives  by  the  competition  of  upstart  num- 
bers, his  spritish  family  has  moved  ofi",  with  bag  and  baggage,  to 
the  back  settlements.  This  is  certain,  that  in  Virginia  he  is  not 
seen  half  so  often  now  as  formerly.  A  traveller  in  the  Old  Do- 
minion may  now  wander  about  of  nights  as  dark  as  pitch,  over 
commons,  around  old  churches,  and  through  graveyards,  and  all 
the  while  the  rain  may  be  pouring  down  with  its  solemn  hissing 
sound,  and  the  thunder  may  be  rumbling  over  his  head,  and  the 
wind  moaning  through  the  trees,  and  the  lightning  flinging  its 
sulphurous  glare  across  the  skeletons  of  dead  horses,  and  over  the 
grizzly  rawheads  upon  the  tombstones  ;  and,  even,  to  make  the 
case  stronger,  a  drunken  cobbler  may  be  snoring  hideously  in  the 
church  door,  (being  overtaken  by  the  storm  on  his  way  home.) 
and  every  flash  may  show  his  livid,  dropsical,  carbuncled  face, 


264  STORY-TELLING. 

like  that  of  a  vagabond  corpse  that  had  stolen  out  of  his  prisor 
to  enjoy  the  night  air  ;  and  yet  it  is  ten  to  one  if  the  said  travel 
ler  be  a  man  to  be  favored  with  a  glimpse  of  that  old-fashioned 
distinguished  personage  who  was  wont  to  be  showing  his  clovei 
foot,  upon  much  less  provocation,  to  our  ancestors.  The  oh 
crones  can  tell  you  of  a  hundred  pranks  that  he  used  to  play  in  thei 
day,  and  what  a  roaring  sort  of  a  blade  he  was.  But,  alas  !  sin 
ners  are  not  so  chicken-hearted  as  in  the  old  time.  It  is  a  terri 
bly  degenerate  age  ;  and  the  devil  and  all  his  works  are  fas 
growing  to  be  forgotten. 

Except  Mike  Brown's  humorsome  pot-companion,  I  mucl 
question  if  there  is  another  legitimate  goblin  in  the  Old  Domic 
ion ;  and  in  spite  of  Ned  Hazard  and  Hafen  Blok,  who  do  al 
they  can  to  keep  up  his  credit,  I  am  much  mistaken  if  he  doe 
not  speed  away  to  the  Missouri  or  the  Bocky  Mountains  one  c  \ 
these  days,  as  fast  and  as  silently  as  an  absconding  debtor.  Lest  I 
therefore,  his  exploits  should  be  lost  to  the  world,  I  will  veritabl 
record  this  "  Chronicle  of  the  Last  of  the  Virginia  Devils,"  as  i 
has  been  given  to  me  by  the  credible  Hafen,  that  most  authenti 
of  gossips,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  perusal  of  what  I  am  going  t 
write. 

The  substance  of  this  narrative — for  I  do  not  deny  som 
rhetorical  embellishments — was  delivered  by  Hafen  after  suppe: 
as  we  sat  in  the  porch  at  Swallow  Barn  until  midnight,  Hafe 
all  the  while  puffing  a  short  pipe,  and  only  rising  on  his  feet  i 
such  times  as  his  animation  got  beyond  control,  and  inspired  hii' 
to  act  the  scene  he  was  describing.  The  witnesses  were  M 
Wart  and  Frank  Meriwether,  who  sat  just  inside  of  the  door,  a 
tended  by  Lucy  and  Vic,  who  for  the  greater  part  of  the  tin; 
had  their  arms  about  Frank's  neck ;  and  Mr.  Chub,  who,  thoug 
within  hearing — for  he  was  seated  at  the  window,  also  smoking- 
I  do  not  believe  paid  much  attention  to  the  story  ;  although  1 , 


I 


J\l  1 K  E     li  K  O  \V  N  .  26r# 

was  heard  once  or  twice  to  blow  out  a  stream  of  smoke  from  his 
mouth,  and  say  "  balderbash  !" — an  epithet  in  common  use  with 
him.  But  there  were  Ned  and  myself  close  beside  Hafen ;  and 
Rip,  who  sat  on  the  steps  in  the  open  air,  with  his  head  occasion- 
ally turned  over  his  shoulder,  looking  up  at  the  story-teller  with 
the  most  marked  attention  :  and  lastly,  there  were  sundry  wide- 
mouthed  negroes,  children  and  grown,  who  were  clustered  into  a 
dusky  group  beneath  the  parlor  window,  just  where  a  broad  ray 
of  candlelight  fell  upon  them  ;  and  who  displayed  their  white 
teeth,  like  some  of  Old  Nick's  own  brood,  as  they  broke  out  now 
and  then  into  hysterical,  cowardly  laughs,  and  uttered  ejacula- 
tions of  disbelief  in  Hafen's  stories  that  showed  the  most  implicit 
faith. 


MIKE     B  P^  O  W  N  , 


Mike  Brown  was  a  blacksmith,  who  belonged  to  Harry  Lee's 
light-horse,  and  shod  almost  all  the  hoofs  of  the  legion.  He  was 
a  jolly,  boisterous,  red-faced  fellow,  with  sandy  hair,  and  light 
blue  eyes  so  exceedingly  blood-shot,  that  at  a  little  distance  off 
you  could  hardly  tell  that  they  were  eyes  at  all.  He  had  no  lei- 
sure, during  the  Revolutionary  war,  to  get  them  clarified  ;  for 
what  with  the  smoke  of  his  furnace,  and  keeping  late  hours  on 
patroles,  and  hard  drinking,  his  time  was  filled  up  to  the  entire 
disparagement  of  his  complexion.  He  was  a  stark  trooper,  to 
whom  no  service  came  amiss,  whether  at  the  anvil  or  in  the  field, 
having  a  decisive  muscle  for  the  management  of  a  piece  of  hot 
iron,  and  an  especial  knack  for  a  marauding  bout ;  in  which  latter 
species  of  employment  it  was  his  luck  to  hold  frequent  velitations 
with  the  enemy,  whereby  he  became  notorious  for  picking  up 
stragglers,  cutting  off  baggage-wagons,  and  rifling  rum-casks,  and 
12 


266  MIKE    BROWN. 

I 

now  and  then,  for  easing  a  prisoner  of  his  valuables.  He  cou 
handle  a  broadsword  as  naturally  as  a  sledge-hammer ;  and  mai 
a  time  has  Mike  brandished  his  blade  above  his  beaver,  and  mat , 
it  glitter  in  the  sun,  with  a  true  dragoon  flourish,  whilst  he  ga 
the  huzza  to  his  companions  as  he  headed  an  onset  upon  Tarletot 
cavalry. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  war,  he  served  with  Colonel  Was 
ington,  and  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  a  sergeant  for  leading 
party  of  the  enemy  into  an  ambuscade ;   and,  in  addition  to  tl: 
honor,  the  colonel  made  him  a  present  of  a  full  suit  of  regime  i 
tals,  in  which,  they  say,  Mike  was  a  proper-looking  fellow.     B 
black  leather  cap,  with  a  strip  of  bearskin  over  it,  and  a  whi 
buck-tail  set  on  one  side,  gave  a  martial  fierceness  to  his  red  fla 
nel  face.     A  shad-bellied  blue  bobtail  coat,  turned  up  with  bro 
buff,  and  meeting  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach  with  a  hook  and  e^ 
was  well  adapted  to  show  the  breadth  of  his  brawny  chest,  whi 
was  usually  uncovered  enough  to  reveal  the  shaggy  mat  of  r 
hair  that  grew  upon  it.     A  buckskin  belt,  fastened  round  I 
waist  by  an  immense  brass  buckle,  sustained  a  sabre  that  rattl 
upon  the  ground  when  he  walked.     His  yellow  leather  breed 
were  remarkable  for  the  air  of  ostentatious  foppery  which  th 
imparted  to  the  vast  hemisphere  of  his  nether  bulk  ;    and,  tak 
together  with  his  ample  horseman's  boots,  gave  the  richest  effc 
to  his  short  and  thick  legs,  that,  thus  apparelled,  might  be  said 
be  gorgeous  specimens  of  the  Egyptian  column. 

Such  was  the  equipment  of  Sergeant  Brown  on  all  festii 
occasions  ;  and  he  was  said  to  be  not  a  little  proud  of  this  rewa 
of  valor.  On  work  days  he  exhibited  an  old  pair  of  glazed,  bro 
buckskin  small-clothes,  coarse  woollen  stockings,  covered  wi 
spatterdashes  made  of  untanned  deer  hide,  and  shoes  garnish 
with  immense  pewter  buckles*,  though,  as  to  the  stockings,  he  c3i 
not  always  wear  them.     Hose  or  no  hose,  it  was  all  the  same 


MIKE     BROWN.  267 


Mike  !  I  am  minute  in  mentioning  the  regimentals,  because,  for  a 
long  time  after  the  war.  Sergeant  Mike  was  accustomed  to  indue 
himself  in  this  identical  suit  on  Sundays,  and  strut  about  with  the 
air  of  a  commander-in-chief. 

Mike's  skill  in  horseshoes  rendered  him  very  serviceable  in 
the  campaigns.  On  a  damp  morning,  or  over  sandy  roads,  he 
^«  I  could  trail  Tarleton  like  a  hound.  It  was  only  for  Mike  to  ex- 
amine the  prints  upon  the  ground,  and  he  could  tell,  with  aston- 
ishing precision,  whether  the  horses  that  had  passed  were  of  his 
own  shoeing,  how  many  were  in  company,  how  long  they  had  gone 
by,  and  whether  at  a  gallop,  a  trot,  or  a  walk  ;  whether  they  had 
halted,  or  had  been  driving  cattle,  and,  in  fact,  almost  as  many 
particulars  as  might  be  read  in  a  bulletin.  Upon  such  occasions, 
when  appearances  were  favorable,  he  had  only  to  get  a  few  of  his 
dare-devils  together,  and  Tarleton  was  sure  to  have  some  of  Ser- 
geant Brown's  sauce  in  his  pottage,  before  he  had  time  to  say 
grace  over  it. 

Mike  used  always  to  commence  these  adventures  by  drinking 
the  devil's  health,  as  he  called  it ;  which  was  done,  very  devoutly, 
in  a  cup  of  rum  seasoned  with  a  cartridge  of  gunpowder,  which, 
he  said,  was  a  charm  against  sword  cuts  and  pistol  shot.  When 
his  expedition  was  ended,  he  generally  called  his  roll,  marked 
down  the  names  of  the  killed,  wounded  and  missing,  by  the  scratch 
of  his  black  thumb-nail,  and  then  returned  the  dingy  scroll  into 
jhis  pocket,  with  a  knowing  leer  at  the  survivors,  and  the  pithy 
;  (j  ppothegm,  which  he  repeated  with  a  sincere  faith,  "  that  the  devil 
.„,  was  good  to  his  own."  This  familiarity  with  the  '-old  gentleman," 
^1  jas  Mike  himself  termed  him,  added  to  his  trooper-like  accomplish- 
jjj,  ment  of  swearing  till  he  made  people's  hair  stand  on  end,  begat  a 
^  common  belief  in  the  corps  that  he  was  on  very  significant  terms 
^y  with  his  patron ;  and  it  was  currently  said,  '•  that  Mike  Brown  and 
the  devil  would* one  day  be  wearing  each  other's  shirts." 


268  MIKE    BROWN. 

When  the  war  was  over,  the  sergeant  found  himself  a  dis- 
banded hero,  in  possession  of  more  liberty  than  he  knew  what  to 
do  with  ;  a  sledge  and  shoeing  hammer ;  an  old  pair  of  bellows ; 
a  cabinet  of  worn-out  horseshoes ;  a  leather  apron  ;  his  Sunday 
regimentals  in  tolerable  repair ;  and  a  raw-boned  steed,  somewhat 
spavined  by  service  : — to  say  nothing  of  a  light  heart,  and  an 
arm  as  full  of  sinew  as  an  ox's  leg.  Considering  all  which  things, 
he  concluded  himself  to  be  a  well-furnished  and  thriving  person, 
and  began  to  cast  about  in  what  way  he  should  best  enjoy  his 
laurels,  and  the  ease  the  gods  had  made  for  him. 

In  his  frequent  ruminations  over  this  momentous  subject,  he 
fell  into  some  shrewd  calculations  upon  the  emolument  and  com- 
fort which  were  likely  to  accrue  from  a  judicious  matrimonial 
partnership.  There  was  at  that  time  a  thrifty,  driving  spinster, 
bearing  the  name  of  Mistress  Ruth  Saunders,  who  lived  at  the 
landing  near  Swallow  Barn.  This  dame  was  now  somewhat  in 
the  wane,  and,  together  with  her  mother,  occupied  a  little  patch 
of  ground  on  the  river,  upon  which  was  erected  a  small  one-storied 
frame  house,  the  very  tenement  now  in  possession  of  Sandy 
Walker.  Here  her  sire  had,  in  his  lifetime,  kept  a  drinking 
tavern  for  the  accommodation  of  the  watermen  who  frequented 
the  landing.  The  widow  did  not  choose  to  relinquish  a  lucrative 
trade,  and  therefore  kept  up  the  house  ;  whilst  the  principal  cares 
of  the  hostelry  fell  upon  the  indefatigable  and  energetic  Mistress 
Kuth,  who,  from  all  accounts,  was  signally  endowed  with  the  ne- 
cessary qualifications  which  gave  lustre  to  her  calling. 

Mike,  being  a  free  and  easy,  swaggering,  sociable  chap,  and 
endowed  with  a  remarkable  instinct  in  finding  out  where  the  best 
liquors  were  to  be  had  on  the  cheapest  terms,  had  fallen  insensi- 
bly into  the  habit  of  consorting  with  a  certain  set  of  idle,  muddy- 
brained  loiterers  who  made  the  widow  Saunders'  house  their  head- 
quarters on  Sunday  afternoons,  and  as  often  on  week  days  as  they 


:>i  Uv  v:    a  ii  o  \v  n  .  269 

JDuld  find  au  excuse  for  getting  together.     And  such  had  been 

ike's  habits  of  free  entertainment  in  the  army,  that  he  acquired 

me  celebrity  for  serving  his  comrades  in  the  same  manner  that 

le  had  been  used  to  treat  the  old  Continental  Congress ;  that  is, 

je  left  them  pretty  generally  to  pay  his  scot. 

By  degrees,  he  began  to  be  sensible  to  the  slow  invasion  of  the 
bnder  passion,  which  stole  across  his  ferruginous  bosom  like  a 
plume  of  dun  smoke  through  a  smithy.  He  hung  about  the  bar- 
bom  with  the  languishing  interest  of  a  lover,  and  took  upon  him- 
jlf  sundry  minute  cares  of  the  household,  that  excused  some  iu- 
ease  of  familiarity.  He  laughed  very  loud  whenever  Mistress 
uth  affected  to  be  witty ;  and  pounced,  with  his  huge  ponderous 
aws,  upon  the  glasses,  pitchers,  or  other  implements  which  the 
ame  fixed  her  eye  upon,  as  needful  in  the  occasions  of  her  calling ; 
ot  a  little  to  tlie  peril  of  the  said  articles  of  furniture : — for 
like's  clutch  was  none  of  the  gentlest,  in  his  softest  moods.  In 
hort,  his  assiduities  soon  made  him  master  of  the  worshipful 
listress  Ruth,  her  purse  and  person.  She  had  seen  the  devil, 
ccording  to  the  common  computation,  three  times,  and  had  been 
0  much  alarmed  at  his  last  visit  that — the  story  goes — she  swore 
n  oath  that  she  would  marry  his  cousin-german,  rather  than  be 
mportuned  by  his  further  attentions.  There  is  no  knowing  what 
,  woman  will  do  under  such  circumstances  !  I  believe  myself, 
hat  Mistress  Ruth  chose  sergeant  Mike  principally  on  account  of 
lis  well  kno^nm  dare-devil  qualities. 

The  dame  whose  worldly  accomplishments  and  personal  charms 
ad  dissolved  the  case-hardened  heart  of  the  redoubted  black- 
mi  th  of  the  legion,  was  altogether  worthy  of  her  lord.  A  suc- 
jession  of  agues  had  spun  her  out  into  a  thread  some  six  feet  long. 
?L  tide-water  atmosphere  had  given  her  au  a.shen,  dough  face, 
iprinkled  over  with  constellations  of  freckles,  and  exhibiting  fea- 
f^ures  somewhat  tart  from  daily  crosses.     Her  thin,  bluish  lips  had 


270  MIKE     BROWN, 

something  of  the  bitterness  of  the  crab,  with  the  astringency  ol 
the  persimmon.  Her  hair,  which  was  jet-black,  was  plastered 
across  her  brow  with  the  aid  of  a  little  tallow,  in  such  a  manne* 
as  to  give  it  a  rigid  smoothness,  that  pretty  accurately  typified: 
her  temper  on  holiday  occasions,  and  also  aided,  by  its  sleekness 
in  heightening  the  impression  of  a  figure  attenuated  to  the  greati 
est  length  consistent  with  the  preservation  of  the  bodily  functions 
A  pair  of  glassy  dark  eyes,  of  which  one  looked  rather  obliquelj 
out  of  its  line,  glared  upon  the  world  with  an  habitual  dissatisfao 
tion  ;  and  in  short,  take  her  for  all  and  all,  Mistress  Ruth  Saua 
ders  was  a  woman  of  a  commanding  temper,  severe  devotion  U 
business,  acute  circumspection,  and  paramount  attraction  fo] 
Mike  Brown. 

After  the  solemnization  of  the  nuptials,  Mike  took  a  lease  o 
Mr.  Tracy  of  the  small  tract  of  land  bordering  on  the  Goblii 
Swamp,  which,  even  at  that  day,  was  a  very  suspicious  region 
and  the  scene  of  many  marvellous  adventures.  Of  all  places  ii 
the  country,  it  seemed  to  have  the  greatest  charm  for  Mike.  H' 
accordingly  set  up  his  habitation  by  the  side  of  the  old  count; 
road,  that  crossed  the  marsh  by  the  causeway ;  and  here  he  alsi 
opened  his  shop.  Mistress  Mike  Brown  resumed  her  former  oc 
cupation,  and  sold  spirits;  whilst  her  husband  devoted  his  tim-: 
to  the  pursuits  of  agriculture,  the  working  of  iron,  and  the  up 
roarious  delights  of  the  bottle  :  whereto  the  managing  Ruth  alsi!' 
attached  herself,  and  was  sometimes  as  uproarious  as  the  seil 
geant.  i 

In  process  of  time  they  were  surrounded  by  four  or  five  impsj 
of  either  sex,  whose  red  hair,  squinting  eyes,  and  gaunt  and  squa : 
figures,  showed  their  legitimate  descent.  As  these  grew  apace 
they  were  to  be  seen  hanging  about  the  smithy  barefooted,  hal 
covered  with  rags,  and  with  smutty  faces  looking  wildly  out  c 
mops  of  hair  which  radiated  like  the  beams  of  the  sun  in  th 
image  of  that  luminary  on  a  country  sign. 


M  I  K  K     B  R  OWN.  27 1 

!  The  eldest  boy  was  bred  up  to  his  father's  trade  ;  that  is,  he 
[flirted  a  horse-tail  tied  to  a  stick,  all  day  long  in  summer,  to  keep 
jthe  flies  from  the  animals  that  were  brought  to  be  shod  ;  at  which 
i^leepy  employment  Mike  was  wont  to  keep  the  youngster's  atten- 
tion alive  by  an  occasional  rap  across  the  head,  or  an  unpremcdi- 
itated  application  of  his  foot  amongst  the  rags  that  graced  the 
iperson  of  the  heir-apparent.  Upon  this  system  of  training,  it  is 
|reported,  there  were  many  family  differences  betwixt  Mike  and 
his  spouse,  and  some  grievously  disputed  fields.  But  Mike's 
muscle  was  enough  to  settle  any  question.  So  that  it  is  not 
wonderful  that  the  suffering  Ruth  should  sometimes  have  taken 
to  flight,  and  had  recourse  to  her  tongue. 

I  In  this  way,  the  spoiler  Discord  stealthily  crept  into  the  liti'e 
Eden  of  the  Browns ;  and  from  one  flower-bed  advanced  to 
'another,  until  he  made  himself  master  of  the  whole  garden. 
Quarrels  then  became  a  domestic  diversion ;  and  travellers  along 
the  road  could  tell  when  the  patriarch  Mike  was  putting  his  house- 
hold in  order,  by  the  sound  of  certain  lusty  thwacks  which  pro- 
ceeded from  the  interior,  and  the  frequent  apparition  of  a  young 
elf  darting  towards  the  shop,  with  one  hand  scratching  his  head, 
and  the  other  holding  up  what  seemed  a  pair  of  trowsers,  but 
which,  in  reality,  were  Mike's  old  leather  breeches.  The  custo- 
mers at  the  shop,  too,  affirmed  that  it  was  a  usual  thing  to  hear 
Mistress  Brown  talking  to  herself,  for  two  or  three  hours,  in  an 
amazingly  shrill  key,  after  Mike  had  gone  to  his  anvil.  And 
some  persons  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that  in  the  dead  hour  of  night, 
in  the  worst  weather,  voices  could  be  heard  upon  the  wind,  in 

^■^  ,  the  direction  of  Mike  Brown's  dwelling,  more  than  a  mile  off; 

f^     one  very  high,  and  the  other  very  gruff ;  and  sometimes  there 

^ji      was  a  third  voice  that  shook  the  air  like  an  earthquake,  and  made 

^1      the  blood  run  cold  at  the  sound  of  it. 

iii  From  this  it  may  be  seen  that  Mike's  house  was  not  very 


272  MIKE     BROWN. 

comfortable  to  Iiim  ;  for  he  was,  at  bottom,  a  good-natured  fellow 
who  loved  peace  and  qniet ;  or,  at  any  rate,  who  did  not  like  the 
clack  of  a  woman,  which,  he  said,  '•  wore  a  man  out  like  water  on 
a  drip-stone."  To  be  sure,  he  did  not  care  about  noise,  if  it  was 
of  a  jolly  sort ;  but  that  he  neyer  found  at  home,  and  therefore. 
"  as  he  took  no  pride  in  Ruth,"  to  use  his  own  phrase,  upon  Ha- 
fen's  report,  "  he  naturally  took  to  roaming." 

He  was  an  open-hearted  fellow,  too,  who  liked  to  spend  his  j 
money  when  he  had  it ;  but  the  provident  Mistress  Mike  began 
to  get  the  upper  hand  ;  and  in  nothing  are  the  first  encroachmentftii 
of  female  despotism  more  decisively  indicstted  than  in  the  regulars 
tion   of  what  is   called   the  family  economy.     Ruth   purl.an( 
Mike's  breeches,  robbed  the  pockets,  and  secured  the  treasura^ 
She  forestalled  his  debtors,  and  settled  his  accounts,  paralyzed fli^t 
his  credit,  and,  in  short,  did  every  thing  but  publish  her  determi^j 
nation  to  pay  no  debts  of  his  contracting.     The  stout  dragooi 
quailed  before  these  vexations  tactics.     He  could  never  have  beei 
taken  by  storm ;  but  to  turn  the  siege  into  a  blockade,  and 
fret  his  soul  with  mouse-nibblings,  it  was  enough  to  break  theli 
spirit  of  any  man  !  Mike,  however,  covered  himself  with  glory ; 
for  after  being  reduced  to  the  last  stage  of  vassalage,  as  happens 
sometimes  with  an  oppressed  nation,  he  resolved  to  be  his  own 
master  again,  (thanks  to  the  lusty  potations,  or  he  would  nevei 
have  made  so  successful  a  rebellion !)  and  gave  Mrs.  Brown,  oe 
a  memorable  occasion,  a  tremendous  beating,  by  which  he  regain- 
ed the  purse-strings,  and  spent  where  and  when  and  as  freely  sa 
suited  his  own  entertainment. 

There  was  one  thing  in  which  Mike  showed  the  regularity  and' 
discipline  of  an  old  soldier.     He  was  steady  to  it  in  the  worst  oi 
times.     No  matter  where  his  vagrant  humors  might  lead  him,  U 
what  distance,  or  at  what  hours,  or  how  topsy-turvy  he  might  hav( 
grown,  he  was  always  sure  to  make  his  way  home  before  morning 


<lia 

VSt9 

if  ill 


bi^ 


lieu 
detea 


MIKE   r.  icou'^,  273 

y'roin  this  cause  he  became  a  frequent  traveller  over  the  couutry 
n  all  weathers,  and  at  all  times  of  night.  Time  or  tide  did  not 
i^eigh  a  feather.  "  He  would  snap  his  fingers,"  said  Hafcn,  "  at 
ihe  foggiest  midnight,  and  swear  he  could  walk  the  whole  county 
blindfold."  The  fact  was,  Mike  was  a  brave  man,  and  feared 
leither  ghost  nor  devil, — and  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  afraid 
jven  of  his  wife. 

One  winter  night, — or  rather  one  winter  morning,  for  it  was 
)ast  midnight, — Mike  was  coming  home  from  a  carouse.  The 
mow  was  lying  about  half-leg  deep  all  over  the  fields ;  and  there 
!ras  a  crust  frozen  upon  it,  that  was  barely  strong  enough  to  sup- 
)ort  his  weight ;  at  every  step  he  took,  it  broke  through  with  him, 
JO  that  he  floundered  along  sadly  without  a  track  :  and  there  was 
i  great  rustling  and  creaking  of  his  shoes  as  he  walked.  A  sharp 
Qorth-westerly  wind  whistled  with  that  shrillness  that  showed  the 
slearness  of  the  atmosphere  ;  and  the  moon  was  shining  as  bright 
'as  burnished  silver,  casting  the  black  shadows  of  leafless  trees, 
■like  bold  etchings,  upon  the  driven  snow.  The  stars  were  all 
glittering  with  that  fine  frosty  lustre  which  makes  the  vault  of 
heaven  seem  of  the  deepest  blue  ;  and  except  the  rising  and  sink- 
ing notes  of  the  wind,  all  was  still,  for  it  was  cutting  cold,  and 
every  living  thing  was  mute  in  its  midnight  lair.  Yet  a  lonely 
man  might  well  fancy  there  were  sentient  beings  abroad  besides 
himself,  for  on  such  a  night  there  are  sounds  in  the  breeze  of 
human  tones,  like  persons  talking  at  a  distance.  At  all  events, 
Mike  was  at  such  a  time  on  his  way  home  ;  and  as  he  crossed  the 
I  trackless  field  which  showed  him  his  own  habitation  at  a  distance, 
fjni)  I  being  in  the  best  possible  humor  with  himself,  and  whistling  away 
as  loud  as  he  could — not  from  fear,  but  from  inward  satisfaction — 
he  all  at  once  heard  somebody  whistling  an  entirely  different  tune 
close  behind  him.  He  stopped  and  looked  around,  but  there  was 
nothing  but  the  moon  and  trees  and  shadows  ;  so.  nothin  o;  daunted, 


274  MIKE     BROWN. 

he  stepped  on  again,  whistling  as  before,  when,  to  his  great  amaze- 
ment, the  other  note  was  instantly  resumed.  He  now  halted  a 
second  time.  Immediately  all  was  still.  Mike  then  whistled  out 
a  sort  of  flourish,  by  way  of  experiment.  The  other  did  the  very 
same  thing.  Mike  repeated  this  several  times,  and  it  was  always 
answered  quite  near  him. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you !"  exclaimed  Mike,  holding  his  hand 
up  to  his  ear  to  catch  the  sound. 

'•  Look  behind  you,  and  you  will  see,"  replied  a  harsh,  scream- 
ing voice. 

Mike  turned  suddenly  around,  and  there  he  saw  on  the  snow 
the  shadow  of  a  thin,  queer-looking  man,  in  a  very  trig  sort  of  a 
dress,  mounted  upon  a  horse,  that,  by  the  shadow,  must  have  been 
a  mere  skeleton.  These  were  moving  at  full  speed,  although  there 
was  no  road  for  a  horse  to  travel  on  either ;  but  the  shadow  seemed 
to  go  over  shrubs  and  trees  and  bushes,  as  smoothly  as  any  shadow 
could  travel ;  and  Mike  distinctly  heard  the  striking  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  upon  the  snow  at  every  bound  ;  though  he  could  see  nothing 
of  the  real  man  or  horse.  Presently,  as  the  sound  of  the  feet 
died  away,  Mike  heard  a  laugh  from  the  voice  in  the  direction  of 
the  swamp. 

"  Hollo  !"  cried  Mike,  "what's  your  hurry  ?"     But  there  wa|>  fi 
no  answer.  it 

"  Humph  !"  said  Mike,  as  he  stood  stock  still,  with  his  hands  i 
in  his  breeches  pockets,  and  began  to  laugh.  '•  That's  a  genius  i 
for  you  !"  said  he,  with  a  kind  of  perplexed,  drunken,  half-humor 
ous  face.  ♦ 

As  he  found  he  was  not  likely  to  make  much  out  of  it,  he  < 
walked  on,  and  began  to  talk  to  himself,  and  after  a  while  to  ' 
whistle  louder  than  ever.     Whilst  he  was  struggling  forward  in 
this  way,  he  heard  something  like  a  cat-call  down  towards  the 
swamp ;  and  immediately  there  rushed  past  him  the  shadows  of  a 


11 

be  a 
Ml 
Irnei 
iowei 

kk 

k] 

Wjt! 


feu 


MIKE     BROWN.  275 

pack  of  hounds,  making  every  sort  of  yelping,  and  deep-mouthed 
!cry.  He  could  even  hear  the  little  chips  of  ice  that  were  flung 
from  their  feet,  whizzing  along  the  crust  of  snow ;  but  still  he 
could  see  nothing  but  shadows ;  and  the  sounds  grew  fainter  and 
ifainter  until  they  melted  away  in  the  bosom  of  the  swamp. 

Mike  now  stopped  again,  and  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast, 
! — although  he  could  not  help  tottering  a  little,  from  being  rather 
top-heavy ; — and,  in  this  position,  he  fell  gravely  to  considering. 
{First,  he  looked  all  around  ;  then  he  took  off  his  hat  and  ran  his 
ficgers  through  his  hair,  and  after  that  he  rubbed  his  eyes.  "  Tut," 
said  he,  "  it's  all  a  botheration !  There's  no  drag  in  the  world  will 
lie  upon  this  snow.  That's  some  drunken  vagabond  that  had 
better  be  in  his  bed." 

"  What's  that  you  say,  Mike  Brown  ?"    said  the  same  harsh 
oice  he  had  heard  before,  ''  you  had  better  look  out  how  you  take 
any  freedom  with  a  gentleman  of  quality." 

'•  Quality !"  cried  Mike,  turning  his  head  round  as  he  spoke. 
"  You  and  your  quality  had  better  be  abed,  like  a  sober  man,  than 
o  be  playing  off  your  cantrips  at  this  time  of  night." 

Mike  looked  on  the  snow,  and  there  was  the  shadow  of  the 
horse  again,  standing  still,  and  the  figure  upon  it  had  one  arm  set 
i-kimbo  against  his  side.  Mike  could  now  observe,  as  the  shadow 
lurned,  that  he  wore  something  like  a  hussar-jacket,  for  the  shadow 
showed  the  short  skirt  strutting  out  behind,  and  under  this  was 
the  shadow  of  a  tail  turned  upwards,  and  thrown  across  his  shoul- 
ler.  His  cap  appeared  to  be  a  fantastical  thing  perched  on  the 
rery  top  of  his  head  ;  and  below  the  ribs  of  the  skeleton  horse  he 
Bould  perceive  the  legs  dangling  with  hoofs,  one  of  which  was 
cloven. 

"Aha!"  exclaimed  Mike,  "I  begin  to  understand  you,  sir. 
You  are  no  better  than  you  should  be  :  and  I  will  not  keep  com- 
pany with  such  a  blackguard." 


276  MIKE     BROWN. 

i 

'•  Then,  good  night,  Mike  Brown  !''  said  the  voice,  "  you  are 
an  uncivil  fellow,  but  I'll  teach  you  manners  the  next  time  I  meet 
you ;"  and  thereupon  the  shadow  moved  off  at  a  hard  trot,  rising 
up  and  down  in  his  saddle,  like  a  first-rate  jockey. 

"  Good  night !"  replied  Mike;  and  he  made  a  low  bow,  taking 
off  his  hat,  and  scraping  his  foot,  in  a  very  polite  fashion,  through 
the  snow. 

After  this,  Mike  pushed  home  pretty  fast,  for  he  was  growing 
more  sober,  and  his  teeth  began  to  chatter  with  cold.  He  had  a 
way  of  thrusting  aside  a  back-door  bolt,  and  getting  into  the 
house  without  making  a  disturbance  ;  >and  then,  before  he  went 
to  bed,  he  usually  took  a  sleeping-draught  from  a  stone  jug  which 
he  kept  in  the  cupboard,  Mike  went  through  this  manual  on  the 
night  in  question,  and  was  very  soon  afterwards  stretched  out 
upon  his  couch,  where  he  set  to  snoring  like  a  trumpeter. 

He  never  could  tell  how  long  it  was  after  he  had  got  to  bed  j 
that  night,  but  it  was  before  day,  when  he  opened  his  eyes  and . 
saw,  by  the  broad  moonlight   that  was  shining  upon  the  floor 
through  the  window,  a  comical  figure  vaporing  about  the  room.   It  1 
had  a  thin,  long  face,  of  a  dirty  white  hue,  and  a  mouth  that  was  | 
drawn  up  at  the  corners  with  a  smile.     A  pair  of  ram's  horns 
seemed  to  be  twisted  above  his  brows,  like  ladies'  curls ;  and  his 
head  was  covered  with  hair  that   looked  more  like  a  bunch  of 
thorns,  with  a  stiff  cue  sticking  straight  out  behind,  and  tied  up 
with  a  large  knot  of  red   ribbons.     His  coat  was  black,  herring- 
boned  across  the  breast  with  crimson,  and  bound  round  all  the 
seams  with  the  same  color.     It  fitted  as  close  to  his  body  as  the 
tailor  could  make  it ;    and  it  had  a  rigid  standing  collar  that 
seemed  to  lift  up  a  pair  of  immense  ears,  which  were  thus  pro- 
jected outwards  from  the  head.     The  coat  was  very  short,  and 
terminated  in  a  diminutive  skirt  that  partly  rested  upon  a  long, 
pliant  tail,  which  was  whisked  about  in  constant  motion.     He 


j  MIKE     BROWN.  277 

ore  tight  crimson  small  clothes,  bound  with  black ;    and  silk 
ockings  of  black  and  red  stripes,  one  of  which  terminated  in  a 
iiof  instead  of  a  human  foot.     As  he  walked  about  the  room  he 
lade  a  great  clatter,  but  particularly  with  the  hoof,  that  clinked 
ith  the  sound  of  loose  iron.     In  his  hand  he  carried  a  crimson 
ip  with  a  large  black  tassel  at  the  top  of  it. 
'    Mike  said  that  as  soon  as  he  saw  this  fellow  in  the  room,  he 
new  there  was  "something  coming."     He  therefore  drew  his 
llanket  well  up  around  his  shoulders,  leaving  his  head  out,  that 
B  might  have  an  eye  to  what  was  going  forward.     In  a  little 
ime  the  figure  began  to  make  bows  to  Mike  from  across  the  room. 
jirst,  he  bowed  on  one  side,  almost  down  to  the  floor,  so  as  to 
jirow  his  body  into  an  acute  angle  ;  then,  in  the  same  fashion,  on 
le  other  side,  keeping  his  eyes  all  the  time  on  Mike.     He  had, 
?cording  to  Mike's  account,  a  strange  swimming  sort  of  motion, 
ever  still  a  moment  in  one  place,  and  passing  from  spot  to  spot 
ke  something  that  floated.     At  one  instant  he  brandished  his 
i-ms  and  whisked  his  tail,  and  took  one  step  forward,  like  a  dan- 
ng  master  beginning  to  dance^  a  gavot.     In  the  next,  he  made  a 
veep,  and  retreated  to  his  first  position ;    where  he  erected  his 
gure  very  stiffly,  and  strutted  with  pompous  strides  all  round  the 
)om.     All  this  while  he  was  twisting  his  features  into  every  sort 
f  grimace.     Then  he  shook  himself  like  a  merry-andrew,  and 
orang  from  the  floor  upwards,  flinging  about  his  arms  and  legs 
ke  a  supple-jack,  which  being  done,  he  laughed  very  loud,  and 
inked  his  eye  at  Mike.     Then  he  skipped  on  the  top  of  a  chest, 
nd  from  that  to  a  table,  from  the  table  to  a  chair,  from  the  chair 
3  the  bed,  and  thence  off,  putting  his  foot  upon  Mike's  breast  as 
e  passed,  and  pressing  upon  him  so  heavily,  that  for  some  mo- 
lents  Mike  could  hardly  breathe.     After  this,  he  danced  a  mor- 
ice  dance  close  up  to  the  bedside,  and  fetched  a  spring  that 
•rought  him  astride  upon  Mike's  stomach ;  where  he  stooped  down 


278  MIKE    BROWN. 

i 

■^  SO  as  to  bring  tis  long  nose  almost  to  touch  Mike's,  and  there  ht 
twisted  his  eyebrows  and  made  faces  at  him  for  several  minutes 
From  that  position  he  flung  a  somerset  backwards,  as  far  as  th( 
room  permitted. 

All  this  time  the  foot  with  the  loose  iron  clanked  very  loud 
Mike  was  not  in  the  least  afraid ;  but  he  tried  several  times  tc ' 
speak  without  being  able  to  utter  a  word.  He  was  completely 
tongue-tied,  nor  could  he  move  a  limb  to  help  himself,  being,  aE 
he  affirmed,  under  a  spell.  But  there  he  lay,  looking  at  all  these 
strange  capers,  which  appeared  so  odd  to  him,  that  if  he  had  had 
the  power  he  would  have  laughed  outright. 

At  last  the  figure  danced  up  to  him,  and  stood  still. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  address  myself  to  Sergeant  Brvwn  the 
blacksmith?"  said  he,  interrogatively,  making  a  superlativelj 
punctilious  bow  at  the  same  time. 

"  The  same,"  replied  Mike,  having  in  an  instant  recovered  the 
power  of  speech. 

"  My  name,"  said  the  figure,  "  is ,"  here  he  pronounced  a 

terrible  name  of  twenty  syllables,  that  sounded  something  like 
water  pouring  out  of  a  bottle,  and  which  Mike  never  could  repeat; 
"  I  am  a  full  brother  of  Old  Harry,  and  belong  to  the  family  oi 
the  Scratches.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  call  and  make  my 
respects  this  morning,  because  I  want  to  be  shod." 

Thereupon  he  made  another  bow,  and  lifted  up  his  right  foot 
to  let  Mike  see  that  the  shoe  was  loose. 

"  No  shoeing  to  be  done  at  this  time  of  night,"  said  Mike. 

"  It  does  not  want  but  two  new  nails,"  said  the  figure,  "  and 
the  clinching  of  one  old  one." 

'•  Blast  the  nail  will  you  get  till  daylight !"  replied  Mike. 

"  I  will  thank  you,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  the  figure,  "  if  you  will 
only  take  my  hoof  in  your  hand,  and  pull  out  the  loose  nail  that 
makes  such  a  rattling." 


MIKE    BROWN.  279 

I 

''  I  can't  do  that,"  answered  Mike. 
I    "Why  not?"  ' 

I    "  Because  I  am  afraid  of  waking  Ruthy." 
'    "  I'll  answer  for  the  consequences."  said  the  other.     "  Mistress 
.rown  knows  me  very  well,  and  will  never  complain  at  your  doing 
good  turn  to  one  of  my  family." 

I    "  I'm  sleepy,"  said  Mike,  "  so,  be  about  your  business." 
"  Then,  Mike  Brown,  I  will  waken  you,"  cried  tho  other,  in  a 
e ;  "I  told  you  I  would  teach  you  manners." 
Saying  these  words  he  came  close  to  Mike,  and  siezed  his  nose 
tween  the  knuckles  of  the  two  first  fingers  of  his  right  hand, 
d  wrung  it  so  hard  that  Mike  roared  aloud.     Then,  letting  go 
,s  hold,  he  strutted  away  with  a  ludicrous  short  step,  throwing 
s  legs  upwards  as  high  as  his  head,  and  bringing  them  back 
arly  to  the  same  spot  on  the  floor,  and,  in  this  fashion,  whis- 
ing  all  the  time  a  slow  march,  he  passed  directly  out   of  the 
indow. 

When  Mike  had  sufficiently  come  to  his  senses,  he  found  his 
ntle  consort  standing  by  his  bedside,  with  a  blanket  wrapt  round 
T  spare  figure,  calling  him  all  sorts  of  hard  names  for  disturb- 
sg  her  rest. 

Her  account  of  this  matter,  when  she  heard  from  the  neigh- 
)rs  Mike's  version  of  this  marvellous  visit  from  the  devil,  was, 
at  she  did  not  know  when  he  came  into  the  house  that  night ; 
)r  did  she  see  any  thing  of  his  strange  visitor  ;  although  she  was 
ire  Old  Nick  must  have  been  with  him,  and  flung  him  into  such 
1  odd  position  as  he  was  in  ;  for  he  made  a  terrible,  smothered 
>rt  of  noise  with  his  voice,  which  wakened  her  up,  and  there  she 
>und  him  stretched  across  the  bed  with  his  clothes  on,  and  his 
ead  inclined  backwards  over  the  side,  with  both  arms  down 
)wards  the  floor.  She  said,  moreover,  that  he  was  a  drunken 
rute,  and  she  had  a  great  mind  to  tweak  his  nose  for  him. 


Itti 


IDli 


280  M  IKE     BROWN. 

"  And  I  will  be  bound  she  helped  the  old  devil  to  do  that  ver 
thing  !"  said  Rip. 

"  I  don't  know  how  that  was,"  replied  Hafen,  "  but  Mike's  nos 
got  bluer  and  bluer  after  that,  and  always  looked  very  muc 
bruised,  which  he  said  was  upon  account  of  the  devil's  fingers  beiii,^ 
hot,  and  scorching  him  very  much." 

This  adventure  of  Mike's  gave  him  great  celebrity  in  tb 
neighborhood  ;  and,  b}""  degrees,  the  people  began  to  be  almost  ai 
much  afraid  of  Mike  as  they  were  of  the  goblin  who  was  suppose 
to  frequent  the  swamp.  Mike  added  to  this  impression  by  ce/tai 
mysteries  which  he  used  in  his  craft.  He  had  the  art  of  tamin 
wild  colts  by  whispering  in  their  ears,  which  had  such  an  eSei 
that  he  could  handle  them  at  his  shop  as  safely  as  the  older 
horses.  And  he  professed  to  cure  the  colt's  distemper,  sween^ 
and  other  maladies,  by  writing  some  signs  on  a  piece  of  paper,  ani 
causing  the  horse  to  swallow  it  in  his  oats. 

These  accomplishments,  of  course,  were  set  down  to  the  pr(^    jj^ 
account ;  namely,  to   Mike's  intimacy  with  his  old  companioi 
which  was  known  now  to  be  very  great,  as  will  appear  by  tfc 
following  incidents. 

Some  years  after  the  last  adventure,  in  the  summer,  abou*, 
the  month  of  June,  when  the  moon  was  in  her  third  quarter,  MiW     i^ 
was  crossing  the  common  late  at  night,  just  as  the  moon  was  ri.i 
ing.      He  was  in  his  usual  condition  ;    for  latterly  Mike  ws; 
scarcely  ever  sober.     There  had  been  rain  that  night,  but  tl: 
clouds  had  broken  away,  and  he  was  talking  to  himself,  and  mal 
ing  the  road  twice  as  long  as  it  was,  by  crossing  and  recrossin 
his  path,  like  a  ship  tacking  in  the  wind,  and  every  now  and  the 
bringing  himself  up  against  a  tree  or  sapling,  and  sometinit 
stepping,  with  a  vast  stride,  across  a  streak  of  shadow,  thinkiii 
it  a  gully;  and  at  others,  walking  plump  into  a  real  gully  withoi 
seeing  it,  until  he  came  upon  his  back  in  the  mud.     On  am 


'Pre 


k 


M  1 K  E     B  U  O  \V  N  .  28 1 

;3identSj  he  would  swear  out  a  good-natured  oath,  get  up,  and 

on  his  way  rejoicing,  as  usual. 

It  happened,  as  he  was  steering  along  in  this  plight,  there 
sddenly  stood  before  him  his  old  friend  in  the  herring-boned 
i'ket. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mike?"  was  his  usual  salutation. 

"  Pretty  well,  I  thank  you,  sir."     Mike  was  noted  for  being 

upulously  polite  when  he  was  in  his  cups.     So,  he  made  a 
jw,  and  took  off  his  hat,  although  he  could  hardly  keep  his 

und.  • 

"  Sloppy  walking  to  night,  Mr.  Mike." 
I  ''  Sloppy  enough,  sir,"  replied  Mike,  rather  short,  as  if  he  didn't 
^sh  to  keep  company  with  the  devil. 

"  How  is  Mistress  Brown  this  evening  !"  said  the  other,  follow- 
i;  Mike  up. 

"  Pretty  well,  I  thank  j^ou,  sir."  returned  the  blacksmith, 
^  Iking  as  fast  as  he  could. 

"  Trade  brisk,  Mr.  Brown  ?" 

"  Quite  the  contrary,"  replied  Mike  ;  "  there's  nothing  to  do 
virth  speaking  of." 

"  How  are  you  off  for  cash  ?"  asked  the  other,  coming  up  close 
;)ng  side. 

"  I  have  none  to  lend,"  answered  the  blacksmith. 

"  I  did  not  suppose  you  had,  sergeant ;  you  and  I  have  been 
"{uainted  a  long  while.     I  hope  there  is  no  grudge  betwixt  us." 
;  "  I  never  knew  any  good  of  you,"  said  Mike. 
I  "  Let  us  drink  to  our  better  friendship,"  said  the  gentleman, 
king  a  flat  bottle  from  his  pocket. 

"  With  all  my  heart !"  cried  Mike,  as  he  stretched  out  his 

nd  and  took  the  flask.     '•  Here's  to  you,  Mr.  Devil !" 
Hereupon  they  both  took  a  drink. 
"Now."  said  Mike.  "  let  us  take  another  to  old  Virginia," 


282  MIKE     BROWN. 

1 

"  Agreed,"  answered  the  gentleman  ;  so  they  took  another.  .\ 
"  You're  a  very  clever    fellow !"    said  Mike,  beginning  -j 
brighten  up. 

"  I  know  that,"  replied  the  gentleman. 
"  You  are  a  man  after  my  own  heart,"  continued  Mike,  "  her 
your  health  again.     Give  us  your  paw,  old  fellow."     Then  m 
shook  hands.  i 

"Let  us  drink  to  Mistress  Brown,"  said  the  gentleman,) 
litely. 

"  Damn  Mistress  Brown  !  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  her.'j 
"I  accept  your  offer,"  replied  the  other;  "here's  her  heait| 
"  Well,"  said  Mike,  "  here's  the  health  of  your  wife,"  * 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,"  replied  the  gentleman.  "  M 
tr«ss  (here  he  pronounced  his  own  unspellable  name.)  will  th: 
you  herself  some  of  these  days,  when  you  may  honor  her  w 
your  company.  But,  Mike,  as  I  have  taken  a  liking  to  you, '. 
make  your  fortune."  l 

"  Will  you?"  cried  the  blacksmith ;  "  then  I'm  your  manl'j 
"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  other,  "  and  I  will  show  you  wh- 
you  may  find  as  much  gold  as  you  can  carry  home  in  a  bag.   I 
you  must  not  mind  trouble." 

"  Trouble  !  exclaimed  Mike.     '•  Any  trouble  for  money  !" 
"  Follow  me,"  said  the  gentleman. 

Upon  this  they  both  turned  their  steps  towards  the  swai 
the  broadest  part  of  which  they  reached  not  very  far  from   ■ 
scene  of  their  colloquy.     The  morass  here  was  covered  with  she 
of  water,  some  of  them  ten  or  twelve  yards  in  diameter.    T 
gentleman  in  black  and  crimson  easily  traversed  these,  with' 
soiling  his  habiliments  more  than  if  he  had  been  in  a  drawi  ■ 
room  ;  but  Mike  made  his  way  with  great  difficulty,  miring  h  ■ 
self  first  in  one  hole,  and  then  in  another,  and  sometimes  plung ; 
up  to  his  middle  in  water.     But  his  companion  exhorted  him ) 


0 


0<! 


MIKE     BROWN.  283 

lersevere,  and  kept  up  his  resolution  by  presenting  him  now  and 
hen  with  the  flask,  which,  Mike  said,  was  of  great  use  to  him. 

At  last  they  arrived  at  the  inmost  part  of  the  swamp,  upon 
he  margin  of  one  of  the  ponds,  in  the  middle  of  which  the  water 
,as  about  two  feet  deep,  but  shallow  towards  the  edges. 

"  Now,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  Mike,  my  brave  fellow  !  do  you 
ike  a  drink." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mike. 
I     "  The  bottom  of  this  pond,"  continued  the  other,  "  is  full  of 
old  ;  and  all  that  you  have  to  do  is  to  rake  it  out.     I'll  get  you 
light  rake." 

I  With  this  he  withdrew  for  a  few  moments,  and  returned  with 
rake  made  of  a  white-oak  sapling,  with  twelve  iron  teeth  to  it, 
ach  about  a  foot  long,  and  put  the  implement  in  Mike's  hand, 
ho,  having  taken  a  good  deal  from  his  host's  flask,  had  much  ado 
)  stand  up.  But  still  he  was  full  of  resolution,  and  very  much 
etermined  to  make  money. 

The  image  of  the  moon  was  reflected  upon  the  water,  whose 
irface  being  slightly  agitated  by  the  breeze  and  the  frequent 
lovement  of  small  insects,  broke  the  reflection  into  numberless 
j-agments,  that  glittered  upon  Mike's  vision  like  pieces  of  bright 
old  at  the  bottom, 

1  "  All  that  you  have  to  do,"  said  Mike's  conductor,  "  is  to  rake 
lat  these  scraps  of  metal,  and  put  them  in  your  pocket.  Work 
ard,  don't  give  up ;  and  wet  your  feet  as  little  as  possible.  So 
lake  yourself  at  home,  for  I  must  bid  you  good  night." 
,  "  Good  night,"  uttered  Mike,  "  and  joy  go  with  you,  my  old 
oy  !" 

Finding  himself  alone  in  the  bosom  of  the  swamp  at  this  hour, 
ind  on  the  high  road  to  fortune,  the  blacksmith  addressed  him- 
j^lf  to  his  task  as  vigorously  as  the  inordinate  depth  of  his  pota- 
;ons  would  allow.     He  took  up  the  rake,  that  was  lying  on  the 


284  MIKE     BROWN. 

ground,  and  raised  it  perpendicularly,  which  was  as  much  as  he 
could  do  and  keep  his  balance,  considering  the  state  of  his  head, 
and  the  slippery  ground  he  had  for  a  footing.  Besides,  the  rakej 
was  very  heavy,  being  made  of  green  wood,  and  at  least  twenty«f( 
feet  long.  When  he  had  it  well  poised,  and  ready  to  make  aflniii 
stroke  in  the  water,  he  took  two  steps  forward  to  bring  him  im^di 
mediately  to  the  edge  of  the  pond.  i    ii|i 

"  Here  goes  !"  he  cried  aloud,  at  the  same  time  flinging  the 
rake  downwards,  which  motion  disturbed  his  centre  of  gravity,  and 
plunged  him  headlong  into  the  pool.  At  the  same  moment  wit! 
the  plash  were  heard  a  dozen  voices,  laughing  from  the  midst  o: 
the  bushes,  with  a  prolonged  and  loud  ho,  ho,  ho  !  that  echoec< 
frightfully  through  the  stillness  of  the  night.  Mike  crawled  oui| 
of  the  water,  keeping  hold  of  the  rake,  and  once  more  stood  upn 
right  on  his  former  foothold. 

"  Well !"  ejaculated  Mike,  with  a  thick  utterance,  and  a  kind 
of  peevish  gravity.  "  what  do  you  see  to  laugh  at  in  that  ?  Neve 
see  a  man  in  the  water  before  ?" 

He  now  very  seriously  raised  the  rake  a  second  time,  aodj 
made  a  more  successful  pitch,  driving  it  into  the  bottom,  amj 
breaking  the  water  into  a  thousand  ripples.  Then,  taking  hoi 
of  the  long  shaft,  which  he  straddled,  as  children  when  they  ridj 
a  stick,  he  began  to  pull  with  might  and  main.  He  strained  untij 
the  perspiration  poured  down  his  cheeks  in  large  drops  ;  but  thj 
teeth  had  sunk  so  deep  in  the  mud,  that  the  rake  was  immovable 

"  Pretty  tough  work  !"    said  Mike,  stopping  to  run  his  fingei 
along  his  brow. 

But  all  his  efforts  proved  unavailing  ;  and  he  was  therefor^] 
forced  to  wade  into  the  pond  again  to  release  the  iron  teeth  fror' 
their  bed  ;  and,  resting  them  lightly  on  the  bottom,  he  again  bega, 
to  pull,  and  succeeded  in  bringing  the  rake  to  the  shore.  Upc, 
examination,  the  fruit  of  all  this  labor  was  nothing  more  thn 
some  decayed  brushwood  and  grass. 


Ijc 


\'{ 


MIKE     BROWN.  285 

"No  great  haul  that!"  muttered  Mike  to  himself ;  and  in- 
tantly  the  swamp  was  alive  again  with  the  same  reverberations 
f  the  choir  of  laughers.  Mike  considering  this  as  a  taunt  that 
e  would  bear  from  neither  devil  nor  imp,  returned  it  scornfally 
nd  in  defiance,  by  an  equally  loud  and  affected  ho,  ho,  ho !  deliv- 
red  in  bass  tones.  "  I  can  laugh  as  well  as  the  best  of  you,"  he 
lid,  nodding  his  head  towards  the  quarter  from  which  the  noises 
ime. 

I  Mike's  temper  now  began  to  give  way ;  and  as  he  grew  angiy, 
J  toiled  with  proportionate  energy,  but  with  the  same  disap- 
lintment,  which  was  always  mocked  by  the  same  coarse  laugh, 
he  violence  of  his  exertions,  the  weight  of  the  implement  with 
hich  he  worked,  and  his  frequent  drenchings,  gradually  over- 
•ming  his  strength,  he  grew  disheartened,  and  began  to  wake  up 
,  the  real  nature  of  his  employment.  The  chill  of  the  night 
Dwly  dispelled  the  fever  of  his  brain,  and  at  last  the  full  convic- 
pn  of  the  truth  broke  upon  him. 

I  "  If  I  was  not  a  born  fool,"  said  he,  "  I  should  think  I  was 
)unk.  I  see  how  it  is  :  that  fellow  who  left  the  marks  of  his  hot 
igers  upon  my  nose,  has  been  playing  his  tricks  upon  me  again. 
1  is  unaccountable  ;  but  if  I  don't  have  my  revenge,  he  may  bridle 
iid  saddle  me  both,  and  ride  me  over  the  swamp  as  much  as  he 
l|3ases." 

I  So  saying.  Mike  threw  down  his  rake,  and  resolutely  retraced 
1?  steps  through  the  marsh.  As  soon  as  he  set  his  foot  upon 
ti3  firm  land,  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  late  companion  calling 
c^t,  "  Good  night,  Sergeant  Brown  !"  which  was  instantly  followed 
^th  the  accustomed  laugh. 

"  Good  night,  you  blackguard !"  cried   Mike,  as  loud  as  he 
Cjild  bawl.     "  Your  liquor  is  as  bad  as  your  lodgings  !"  and 
i:i>ted  off  homeward  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 
\  All  the  next  day  IMike  ruminated  sullenly  over  this  adventure. 


286  MIKE     BROWN. 

and  the  more  he  thought  upon  it  the  more  wroth  he  becan 
There  is  nothing  more  to  be  dreaded  than  a  pleasant-tempere 
sociable,  frolicksome  fellow,  of  good  bone  and  muscle,  when  he 
once  roused.  Quarrel  not  being  one  of  his  habits,  he  manages 
roughly  and  with  great  energy, — or  as  Mike  would  say, — "  like 
view  hand  at  the  bellows."  The  affront  put  upon  him  the  nigli  || 
before  went  very  hard  with  Mike,  and  he  therefore  resolved  ) 
call  his  false  friend  to  an  account.  It  was  singular  that  after  th; 
thought  took  possession  of  his  mind,  there  seemed  to  be  a  reliij 
in  it  that  almost  brought  him  into  a  good  humor.  The  idea  j,  j., 
standing  upon  his  prowess  with  the  devil,  and  giving  him  j 
fair  beating,  was  one  of  those  luxurious  imaginings  that  no  mij 
ever  dreamt  of  but  Mike  Brown.  There  was  a  whimsicalness  | 
it  that  vibrated  upon  the  strongest  chord  in  his  character.  Ml|  |«| 
had  never  met  his  match  in  daylight,  and  he  had  a  droll  convictifj 
that  he  could  master  anything  in  darkness,  if  he  could  only  coij 
to  it,  arm  to  arm.  His  first  and  most  natural  suggestion  was,  ■ 
put  himself  in  order  for  the  projected  interview,  by  making  j 
merry  evening  of  it,  and  then  to  depend  upon  his  genius  for  1 
success  in  the  subsequent  stages  of  the  adventure.  | 

Mike  followed  one  half  of  the  old  Scythian  custom  in  | 
affairs  of  perplexity  :  he  first  considered  the  subject  when  he  Wi 
drunk,  but  he  did  not  revolve  it  again  in  a  sober  mood.  On  t ; 
present  occasion  his  reflections  had  the  advantage  of  being  maturj 
under  circumstances  of  peculiar  animation,  induced  by  the  d 
turbed  state  of  his  feelings  ;  for  he  has  often  said  that  when  a 
thing  fretted  him  it  made  him  awfully  thirsty.  There  was  o 
determination  that  was  uppermost  in  all  the  variety  of  lights  ,- 
which  he  contemplated  his  present  purpose  ; — and  that  was,  asj 
was  a  delicate  affair,  to  treat  it  like  a  gentleman,  and  to  give  li 
adversary  fair  play.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  Mike  had  cast  ' 
work  for  the  day,  he  put  on  liis  regimentals,  took  his  broadswo 


MIKE    BROWN.  287 

ad  set  out  for  his  usual  haunt  to  prepare  himself  for  the  business 
I  hand.  Never  did  he  enter  upon  a  campaign  with  a  more  wary, 
rcumspect,  or  soldier-like  providence. 

He  remained  at  the  tavern  in  the  neighborhood  until  he  had 
irly  put  all  his  compotators  asleep ;  and  then,  in  the  dead  hour 

the  night,  when  the  moon  was  but  a  little  way  above  the  hori- 
in,  and  divided  her  quiet  empire  with  Mike's  own  nose,  he  crept 
rth  silently  upon  his  destined  exploit.  It  was  a  goodly  sight 
;  see  such  a  valiant  blacksmith,  so  martially  bedight,  with  his 
lusty  sword  tucked  under  his  arm,  stealing  out  at  such  an  hour, 
id  wending  his  silent  way  to  the  Goblin  Swamp,  there  to  have 
pass  at  arms  with  the  fiend  !  the  night  breeze  blowing  upon  his 
'arthy  cheek,  and  his  heavy,  sullen  tramp  falling  without  an 
ho  upon  his  own  ear,  and  not  a  thought  of  dread  flickering  about 
3  heart. 

With  his  head  spinning  like  a  top,  and  his  courage  considerably 
ove  striking  heat,  Mike,  after  many  circumgyrations,  arrived  in 
;  out  half  an  hour  on  the  frontier  of  the  field  of  action.  Here 
1  halted,  according  to  a  military  fashion ;  and,  like  a  cautious 
'icer  entering  upon  an  enemy's  territory,  he  began  to  explore 
1e  ground.  Then,  drawing  his  sword  and  straightening  his 
]rson,  he  commenced  an  exhortation  to  himself  in  the  manner 
(la  general  addressing  his  troops. 

"  Now,  my  brave  boy,  keep  a  stifi"  upper  lip !  mind  your  eye  ! 
l)k  out  for  squalls  !  don't  fire  until  you  see  the  whites  of  their 
•es  ;  carry  swords  ;  advance  !" 

All  this  he  uttered  with  a  solemn,  drunken  wisdom,  and  with 
t3  flourish  of  an  old  soldier.  At  the  words  he  stepped  forward, 
:  d  continued  to  approach  the  swamp,  muttering  half  articulated 
mds,  and  occasionally  falling  one  step  backward,  from  carrying 
1  nself  rather  too  erect.  As  soon  as  he  reached  the  edge  of  the 
Drass,  he  gave  the  word  "  halt"  in  a  loud  and  defying  tone  of 


288  MIKE     BROWN.  sj 

voice,  as  if  to  inform  his  adversary  of  his  presense.     He  did  noiiflitij 

wait  long  before   he  heard  a  crackling  noise  as  of  one  breakin^«|i 

through  the  thick  shrubbery  ;  and   full  before  him  stood,  on  ail«ii 

old  log  within  the  swamp,  his  adversary,  in  his  customary  dressBjgte 

with  the  addition  of  a  Spanish  cloak  of  scarlet  that  was  muffledBgi 

about  his  neck.  M^i 

Mike,  immediately  upon  seeing  this  apparition,  brought  hill^ij 

sword  with  an  alert  motion  up  to  his  breast,  with  the  blade  reacbfli^i 

ing  perpendicularly  upward  in  the  line  of  his  face  ;  then,  with  |li<l 

graceful  sweep  of  his  arm,  he  swung  it  down  diagonally,  with  thtB  jj 

point  to  the  ground,  in  the  usual  manner  of  a  salute.  tfiflitf. 

"  Your  honor  !"  said  Mike,  as  he  performed  this  ceremony,    fltfj 

"  "Walk  in,  Sergeant  Brown  !"  said  the  devil,  with  a  huski'lj^jp 

voice,  that  was  scarcely  above  a  whisper.     "  I  did  not  expect  tia,i| 

see  you  to  night ;  I  have  caught  a  bad  cold,  and  am  not  able  tjl||>i 

stir  abroad."  jl  t|' 

"I  am  come  to  night,"  said  Mike  very  stiffly,  and  with  ailgof 

affectation  of  cold  politeness,  "  to  see  you  on  a  piece  of  busines  [m  q\ 

I  require  satisfaction  for  the  affront  you  put  upon  me  last  nightJI||||^ 

" You  shall  have  it.     What's  your  weapon?"  I' 

"  It  is  in  my  hand,"  answered  the  sergeant.  i 

"  Then  follow  me,"  said  the  devil  with  great  composure.       !  Kl 

They  both  stepped  forward  into  the  swamp;    and,  after  tri  i|f, 

versing  some  defiles,  and  passing  around  ponds,  and  making  mar 

tiresome  circuits  through  the  most  intricate  parts  of  the  mars 

Mike  at  length  stopped  to  inquire  which  way  the  devil  meant 
lead  him. 

"  As  I  am  the  challenged  party,  I  have  the  right  to  choose  ii 

own  ground,"  said  the  other. 

"  Certainly  !"  rejoined  Mike.     "  It  is  all  one  to  me." 

At  length  they  reached  a  spot  that  was  covered  with  tall  tretj 

at  the  foot  of  which  the  oartli  seemed  to  be  of  a  more  firm  textu; 


I 


MIKE     li  It  O  W  N  .  289 

than  in  the  rest  of  the  fen.     There  was  a  fire  smoking  through  a 

heap  of  rubbish  near  the  middle  of  the  ground,  and  a  little,  peaked 

'Id  woman,  almost  black  with  the  smoke,  sat  upon  her  haunches 

^0  near  the  fire  that  by  the  flash  of  the  small  flame  Mike  could 

icreeive  that  she  was  smoking  a  pipe.     Her  elbows  were  placed 

ipon  her  knees,  and  her  chin  rested  in  the  palms  of  her  hands  in 

uch  a  manner  that  her  long  fingers  were  extended,  like  the  bars 

>f  a  gridiron,  over  her  cheeks.     Her  eyes  looked   like  burning 

oals,  and  could  be  seen  through  the  dark  at  a  great  distance. 

I     '•  Wife,"  said  the  devil,  '•  Mike  Brown.    Mike  Brown,  my  wife." 

'•Your  servant,"  said  Mike,  with  one  of  his  best  flourishes,  and 

I  bow. 

'•  Pish !"    cried  the  old  woman  with  a  sort  of  scream,  "  sit 
lown !" 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  ma'am,"  replied  Mike,  "  I'd  rather 
land." 

"  What  brings  you  with  Mike  Brown  into  my  bedroom  at  this 
ime  of  night?"  said  the  old  woman  to  her  husband. 
'     "  Mind  your  own  business,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  give  me  my 
word.     I  have  an  affair  of  honor  to  settle  with  this  gentleman." 
I     "  Get  it  yourself,"  said  the  wife. 

So  the  devil  stepped  inside  of  a  hollow  tree,  and  brought  out 

i.  huge  old  fashioned,  two-handed  straight  sword,  that  was  covered 

jvith  rust,  and  immediately  began  to  feel  the  edge  with  his  thumb. 

"  It  is  very  dull ;  but  it  will  do.     Now,  sergeant,  we  will  go  a 

ittle  way  further,  and  settle  this  matter  in  a  twinkling." 

''  Agreed  !    and  remember,  as  you  set  up  for  a  gentleman,  I 
xpect  fair  play." 

"  Honor  bright !"  said  the  devil,  putting  his  hand  to  his  breast. 
"  No  striking  till  each  says  he  is  ready." 
"  By  no  means,"  said  the  devil. 
"  Nor  no  hit  below  the  knee." 
o 


290  MIKE    BROWN. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  devil. 

"  Time  to  breatlie,  if  it  is  asked." 

"  Assuredly !" 

"  Points  down  at  the  first  blood." 

"  Just  as  you  say,"  replied  the  devil. 

"  Then,"  said  Mike,  "  move  on." 

"  We  ought  to  drink  together,  sergeant,  before  we  get  to  blo^ 
I  am  for  doing  the  thing  civilly,"  said  the  devil. 

"  So  am  I,"  replied  Mike.     "  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinioB 

So  the  devil  put  into  Mike's  hands  a  large  gourd,  that  had 
stopper  in  the  top  of  it,  which  the  sergeant  pulled  out,  and  appl 
ing  the  orifice  to  his  mouth,  took  a  hearty  drink,  first  turning 
the  old  woman,  who  sat  all  this  time  in  silence  by  the  fire,  av 
saying,  "  My  service  to  you,  ma'am  !"  The  devil  having  likewi 
performed  his  part  in  this  ceremony,  they  once  more  resumi 
their  walk. 

In  their  progress  towards  the  ground  which  the  devil  h 
chosen  for  the  theatre  of  this  mortal  rencounter,  they  came  to  tv 
small  islands,  the  soil  of  which  was  a  yielding  black  mud  covert 
with  moss.  These  little  parcels  of  ground  arose  out  of  the  mars 
with  well-defined  banks,  perhaps  twelve  inches  high,  and  we; 
separated  from  each  other  by  a  channel  of  deep  water,  not  mo 
than  five  feet  in  width,  so  that  to  pass  from  one  to  the  other  i 
quired  a  leap  that  was  somewhat  perilous,  because  the  foothold «; 
the  opposite  bank  was  not  only  very  soft,  but  the  ground  itse 
scarcely  one  pace  in  breadth.  The  chances  were,  therefore,  tb 
in  leaping  to  it,  the  momentum  employed  would  precipitate  i 
leaper  into  another  pond  of  water  beyond  it.  The  devil  skipp 
over  this  strait  with  great  ease,  and  called  on  Mike  to  folio 
The  sergeant,  however,  hesitated,  and  looked  for  some  momer 
upon  the  spot  with  anxious  concern.  He  traversed  the  groui 
in  the  neighborhood,  to  observe  if  there  was  any  other  passa 


MIKE     D  11  O  W  N  .  2'J  I 

round  this  hazardous  channel ;   meditated  upon  the  consc<j[ucnce3 
of  a  failure  in  the  attempt  to  cross  it ;  looked  at  his  legs,  as  if  to 
compare  their  capabilities  with  the  obstacle  before  him  ;    and,  at 
last,  wisely  determined  that  the  risk  was  more  than  he  ought,  in 
prudence,  to  run.     So,  taking  the  next  expedient, — which  was  to 
make  a  long  step,  in  such  wise  as  to  plant  one  foot  on  the  oppo- 
"^  I  site  bank,  and  rely  upon  the  assistance  of  his  adversary  to  ilrag 
him  over, — he  forthwith  essayed  the  effort.     By  one  prodigious 
stride,  he  succeeded  in  fixing  his  left  foot  on  the  desired  spot,  his 
legs  being  extended  in  the  endeavor  to  their  greatest  possible 
compass ;    and  there  he  remained  in  his  ludicrous  position,  likfe 
the  colossus  of  Shodes,  his  feet  sliding  impercep.tibly  outward  in 
the  slimy  material  of  the  banks,  thus  more  effectually  splitting 
him  asunder,  whilst  the  great  weight  of  his  body  denied  him  all 
power  to  extricate  himself,  even  if  he  had  stood  upon  a  firmer 
base,  and  with  a  less  relaxed  frame.     He  was,  of  course,  wholly 
at  the  mercy  of  his  antagonist,  upon  whose  generosity  he  relied 
with  the  confidence  of  a  true  soldier  ;    if  this  failed  him,  he  had 
nothing  better  left  than  to  fall  sidewise,  in  the  manner  of  a  pair 
of  distended  compasses,  into  the  water,  and  abide  the  consequences 
of  going  headlong  to  the  bottom  of  a  stagnant  pool,  where,  for 
aught  he  knew,  he  should  not  only  be  compelled  to  swallow  a  por- 
tion of  the  noxious  liquid,  but  come  into  familiar  contact  with 
toads,  snakes,  snapping-turtles,  and  other  abominable  inhabitants 
of  such  a  place.     For  the  present,  therefore,  he  began  to  entreat 
the  aid  of  his  old  companion  in  the  most  supplicating  terms.     To 
his  utter  dismay,  the  gentleman  in  the  scarlet  mantle  not  only 
refused  him  a  hand,  but  answered  his  request  with  a  malignant 
laugh,  so  loud  as  to  make  the  swamp  ring  with  its  reverberations. 
"Blood  and  fury  !  why  don't  you  give  me  j-our  hand?"  cried 
M  ike  at  last^  in  an  extremity  of  torture ;  '•  where  are  your  man- 
ners ?" 


292  MIKE     BROWN. 

"What  ails  you  ?"  said  the  devil,  "  that  you  roar  so  loud  ?'*  ■ 

*•  I'm  in  a  quandary  !"  bellowed  the  sergeant.  "  Is  this  tlj 
way  you  treat  a  gentleman  in  distress  ?  Don't  you  see  I'm  spli  [ 
ting  up  to  my  chin?" 

"  When  I  fight,"  replied  the  other  calmly,  '•  I  choose  my  ow 
ground,  and  if  you  can't  reach  it,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine."  , 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  give  me  satisfaction?"  asked  Mike.        > 

"All  the  satisfaction  in  the  world,  Sergeant  Brown.  Rai 
satisfaction,"  said  the  devil,  laughing  and  holding  his  sides. 

"You  are  a  coward,"  cried  Mike,  drawing  his  sword,  an 
flourishing  it  over  his  head, 

"  Step  out,  sergeant,  and  make  your  words  good." 

"You  are  no  gentleman." 

"  Granted,"  said  the  devil ;  "  I  never  set  up  for  one.     But 
don't  think  you  are  much  better,  or  you  would  never  stand  vapo: 
ing  there  with  your  sword,  and  straddling  as  if  you  thought  you: 
self  a  man  of  consequence." 

"  What's  the  use,"  said  Mike,  in  a  gentle  persuasive  tont , 
"  of  keeping  a  man  here  all  night,  tearing  the  life  out  of  him  h 
inches?     Just  give  us  a  hand,  like  a  genteel  Christian  ;  and  as  t 
the  quarrel,  I'll  not  be  particular  about  it." 

"  Good  night,  Sergeant  Brown,"  said  the  devil ;  "  I  see  yo 
have  no  mind  to  fight ;  and  as  I  did  not  come  here  to  trifle, . 
will  wait  no  longer  for  you." 

So  the  devil  turned  round  and  disappeared  from  Mike's  vicT? 
with  a  bitter,  scoffing  laugh. 

The  sergeant  being  thus  left  alone  without  relief,  found  hi 
torment  becoming  every  moment  more  insupportable ;  and  there 
fore,  without  further  efibrt  to  reach  the  ground  on  either  side,  ht 
plunged  head-foremost  into  the  pond,  from  whieh  he  rose  in  ; 
moment  covered  with  black  mud,  and  with  a  multitude  of  rope; 
of  green  slime  clinging  to  his  shoulders,  and  platted  about  hi- 
throat. 


This  shock  hud  the  cft'ect  to  bring  the  blacksmith  jiartially  to 
is  senses,  lie  awoke  from  his  intoxication,  like  one  from  a 
ream,  wondering  at  the  cliauces  that  brought  him  into  such  a 
redicameut,  and  with  a  confused  recollection  of  the  strange  ad- 
enturc  he  had  just  been  engaged  in.  His  conclusion  was,  '•  that 
16  old  chap  had  taken  him  iu  again,"  and  he  therefore  set  off 
omeward,  very  much  ashamed  of  the  failure  of  his  expedition, 
nd  not  loss  vexed  to  hear,  as  he  once  more  arrived  on  dry  land, 
be  usual  valedictory,  "  Good  night !"  with  its  hoarse,  wild  and 
endish  accompaniment. 

I  will  not  pretend  to  give  any  further  avouch  for  these  facts 
ban  the  authority  of  Hafen,  who  affirmed  that  he  had  them  from 
like  himself ;  and  as  Mike  was  a  little  prone  to  exaggerate  when 
is  personal  prowess  was  in  question,  the  judicious  reader  will 
lake  some  grains  of  alloAvance  on  that  score. 

There  were  various  incidents  in  Mike's  life  similar  to  those 
bove  narrated ;  but  it  is  only  material  to  know,  that  not  long 
fter  this  last  adventure,  Mike  began  to  grow  jealous  of  his  old 
rony's  attentions  to  Mistress  Brown.  There  was  a  spirited  in- 
ercourse  kept  up  between  this  worthy  and  the  family,  which  re- 
ulted  at  last  in  the  sudden  disappearance  of  the  matron  from  the 
leighborhood.  The  folks  in  these  parts  have  their  own  notions 
)f  the  matter ;  but  they  don't  like  to  speak  freely  on  the  subject. 
^like,  however,  bore  his  misfortune  like  a  philosopher.  He  very 
cdately  increased  his  allowance  of  comfort  by  doubling  the 
trength  of  his  cups,  and,  in  consequence,  was  more  frequently 
han  ever  beside  himself, — a  very  refreshing  expedient  for  a  man 
vho  has  been  left  alone  in  the  world.  The  heir-apparent  and  the 
ii  "est  of  the  progeny  abdicated  their  birthright,  and  wandered  off, 
t  is  supposed,  in  search  of  food.  The  shop  was  deserted,  the  an- 
»  n\  was  sold,  and  the  bellows  fell  a  victim  to  a  pulmonary  attack. 
The  roof  of  the  dwelling  had  decayed  so  as  to  give  the  wind  and 
•ain  free  admission.     The  relics  of  the  smithy  were,  one  windy 


294  MIKE     EKOWN. 

night,  blown  down.  The  frame  of  tlio  house  first  became  twist 
out  of  its  perpendicular  line,  and  gradually  sunk  to  earth,  at  t 
base  of  the  brick  chimney  that  stands,  at  this  day,  a  monume 
to  show  that  another  of  the  host  of  Revolutionary  heroes  has  ( 
parted.  The  well  grew  to  be  choked  up  with  weeds  ;  the  balam 
pole  waxed  stiff,  and  creaked  in  its  swivel ;  and,  finally.  Mi 
ceased  to  be  seen  in  the  country  side. 

It  is  now  many  years  gone  by,  since  these  mysterious. ever 
employed  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood  ;  and  many  credil 
witnesses, — amongst  the  rest  Hafen  Blok, — aflGirm  that  Mike  a 
his  wife  are  yet  seen  to  hold  occasional  conventicles  with  th 
old  associate,  in  that  part  of  the  swamp  known  as  the  devil's  b 
chamber. 

"  Well,  Hafen,"  said  I,  when  this  story  of  Mike  Brown  y 
concluded,  "do  you  believe  it  all?" 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Hafen,  "it  does  seem  to  me 
if  it  might  be  partly  true.  But  Mike  was  a  monstrous  liar,  a 
an  uncommon  hard  drinker." 

"  It  is  reasonable,"  said  Hazard,  "  to  suppose  that  the  de 
should  be  fond  of  such  a  fellow  as  Mike  Brown." 

Said  Rip,  "  For  my  share,  I  don't  believe  it.  Hafcn's  maki 
fun :  how  could  the  devil  walk  over  the  swamp  in  silk  stockin 
and  not  get  them  muddy  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


AN    INTERLUDE. 


A.BOUT  the  same  hour  of  the  night  when  Hafen  Blok  was  regaling 
lis  circle  of  auditors  in  the  porch  at  Swallow  Barn,  it  fell  out  that 
iwo  sympathetic  souls,  who  have  frequently  been  brought  to  view 
in  this  narrative,  were  weaving  closer  the  network  of  sentimental 
1  iffinities  in  a  quiet  conference  in  one  of  the  chambers  at  The 
-  Brakes.  As  this  contemporary  incident  may  serve  to  give  my 
readers  some  insight  into  the  family  history,  I  will  relate  it  as  it 
eyas  told  to  me  by  Harvey  Riggs  ;  only  premising  that  Harvey  is 
isomewhat  dramatic  in  his  nature,  and  therefore  apt  to  put  words 
into  the  mouths  of  his  actors,  which,  if  the  matter  were  investi- 
gated, it  might  be  discovered  they  never  spoke.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  if  the  story  be  not  a  positive  fact,  (Harvey  makes  a  distinc- 
tion between  a  positive  and  a  simple  fact.)  it  is  at  least  founded 
;on  a  real  event. 

The  bustle  attending  the  negotiation  of  the  treaty  that  had 
just  been  concluded  by  our  plenipotentiaries  at  The  Brakes,  had 
subsided,  upon  the  departure  of  the  Swallow  Barn  cavalcade,  into 
an  unusual  calm.  The  family  retired  from  the  tea-table  with  a 
sedateness  that  might  be  ascribed  to  exhausted  spirits  :  and,  what 
was  most  worthy  of  observation.  Swansdown,  neglectful  of  his 
customary  assiduities,  relinquished  the  company  of  the  ladies. 


29G  AN     INTETRLUDE. 

I 

and  sauntered  Avith  Mr.  Tracy  towards  the  back  door,  wliere,  in  ; 
chair  inclined  against  a  column  of  the  portico,  he  fixed  himsell 
with  one  foot  resting  upon  the  front  bar,  and  with  his  right  le^ 
thrown  aci'os»  his  left  knee  in  such  fashion  as  to  po-int  upwards  a 
an  angle  of  forty-five  ;  and  in  this,  posture  he  incontinent!; 
launched  into  a  long,  prosing  discourse  with  Mr.  Tracy,  who  sa 
opposite  to  him,  which  lasted  all  the  evening.  He  was  tuned  t 
too  high  a  key  for  light  company.  The  achievement  of  the  aware 
had  wrought  him  into  that  state  of  self-complacency  which  gcc , 
erally  attends  upon  ambition  when  saturated  with  a  great  exploil 
He  had  done  a  deed  of  mould,  and  was  pleased  to  float  upon  th 
billow  of  his  vanity,  high  borne  above  all  frivolous  things. 

This  humor   did  not  pass   unobserved,  nor^  perhaps,  unn^ 
sented  :  for  as  soon  as  affairs  had  fallen  into  the  posture  I  hav 
described.  Prudence  Meriwether  and  Catharine  Tracy,  in  an  aj 
parently  careless  spirit,  set  to  walking  up  and  down  the  hall,  an' 
afterwards  sallied  forth,  amidst  the  lingerings  of  the  twilighi 
upon  the  open  hill-side,  and,  with  no  better  protection  agains, 
the  damps  of  the  evening  than  their  handkerchiefs  thrown  acroS' 
their  shoulders,  strolled  at  a  snail's  pace  towards  the  river ;  an' 
talked — -heaven  knows  what ! — or,  at  least,  they  only  know,  wh 
know  what  ruminative  virgins^  on  river  banks  at   dewy  eve,  ar 
wont  to  say. 

It  T£as  nine  by  the  clock, — -or  even  later, — when  they  returnc' 
to  the  front  door  and  sat  down  upon  the  steps,  still  inteiat  upo 
the  exchange  of  secret  thoughts.  After  a  brief  space,  they  ros 
again,  and  with  locked  arms  stepped  stately  through  the  hall,  ti 
and  fro.  Still  the  interminable  Swansdown  pursued  his  incessaD ! 
discourse.  Another  interval,  and  the  two  ladies  slowly  wende 
their  way  up  stairs,  and  in  the  eastern  chamber,  looking  toward 
the  river,  lighted  by  a  solitary  taper  which  threw  a  murky  ra 
across  the  room,  they  planted  their  chairs  at  the  window ;  beneat 


AN     INTERLUDE.  297 

wliicb,  until  late  at  niglit,  was  heard  a  low,  murmuring,  busy  note 
of  ceaseless  voices,  like  the  flutter  of  the  humming-bird  in  a  wil- 
derness of  honeysuckles. 

Haryey  pretends  that  the  subject   of  this   long   communing 

between  our  thoughtful  dames  had  a  special  regard  to  that  worthy 

personage  whom  but  now  my  reader  has  seen  seated  at  the  porch, 

with  his  foot  as  high  as  his  head.     I  have  said  somewhere  that 

Prudence  was  oratorical ;  and,  indeed,  I  have  heard  it  remarked 

that  the  ladies  of  the  Old  Dominion,  in  general,  are  not  sparing 

of  their  tropes.     Upon  that  subject  I  have  no  opinion  to  give,  but 

leave  the  world  to  draw  its  own  conclusions  from  the  following 

authentic  conversation ;  authentic  as  far  as  Harvey  Riggs  is  a 

credible  witness. 

j        It  is  characteristic  of  Prudence  Meriwether, — as  it  is  of  sun- 

j  dry  other  ladies  of  my  acquaintance, — to  lavish  much  fervor  of 

I  imagination  in  the  advocacy  of  any  favorite  opinion.     The  glow 

of  her  feelings  is,  of  course,  reflected  upon  her  subject,  and  the 

I  glow  of  her  subject  is  again  reflected  back  upon  her  feelings  ;  and 

I  thence,  backward  and  forward  successively,  until  the  greatest 

i  possible  degree  of  heat  is  obtained  by  the  process  ;  exactly  as  we 

Bee  the  same  result  produced  between  two  concave  mirrors'.     It 

seems  to  me  that  an  attentive  observation  of  this  phenomenon 

may  go  a  great  way  to  explain  the  mystery  of  a  love  afiair. 

The  present  theme  was  one  of  those  upon  which  Prudence 
was  wont  to  expatiate  with  a  forcible  emphasiij.  Her  rhetoric 
might  be  said  to  be  even  hyperbolical,  and  her  figures  of  speech 
were  certainly  of  the  most  original  stamp.  First,  she  gave  an 
inventory  of  Swansdown's  gentle  qualities.  "  He  was  amiable^ 
mild,  soft,  and  polished."  Then  again,  "  his  voice  was  silvery,  his 
motion  graceful,  his  manners  delicate."  In  this  enumeration  of 
dainty  properties  she  sometimes  paused  to  ask  Catharine  if  she 
did  not  think  so. 


298  AN    INTERLUDE. 

Catharine  thought  so,  of  course. 

"  There  was  a  gravity  in  his  demeanor,"  said  Prudence,  '•  which 
gave  authority  to  his  presence,  and  seemed  to  rebuke  familiarity ; 
and  yet  it  was  so  mixed  up  with  the  sallies  of  a  playful  imagina- 
tion, that  it  won  the  good  opinion  of  the  world  almost  by  stealth." 

"  He  is  very  generally  respected,"  said  Catharine. 

Prudence  continued  the  catalogue  with  increasing  warmth  ; 
and  although  Catharine  was  not  so  figurative,  she  was  not  less 
energetic  in  her  panegyric.  She  not  only  echoed  Pru's  sentiments, 
but  even  magnified  their  proportions.  Where  two  persons  agree, 
the  debate  must  be  short.  Such  congeniality  of  thinking  oceludes 
discussion,  and  the  two  ladies  therefore  travelled  rapidly  through 
the  inventory. 

Prudence  rose  to  the  height  of  the  stature  of  his  mind,  and 
descanted  upon  his  abilities. 

"  He  had  the  art,"  she  said,  '•  to  impart  a  charm  to  the  dullest 
subjects.  His  discrimination  was  intuitive,  and  facilitated  his 
journey  through  the  mazes  of  research,  like  one  that  wandered 
over  a  shorn  meadow.  Who  but  a  man  of  genius  could  unravel 
the  occult  darkness  of  the  boundary  line,  and  shed  certainty,  in 
one  day,  upon  an  imjDortant  question,  in  opposition  to  all  the 
courts  and  all  the  lawyers  of  a  state  that  boasted  of  both,  with  that 
forensic  jurist  Mr.  Wart  (manifestly  prejudiced  against  his  opi- 
nion) on  the  other  side  !  There  was  a  moral  romanticity  in  it. 
It  was  like  casting  a  spell  of  "  gramarie"  over  his  opponents.  The 
world  would  talk  of  this  thing  hereafter !" 

"  It  is  very  surprising,"  muttered  Catharine. 

'•  Think  of  it,  my  dear  !"  cried  Prudence.  "  The  country, 
before  long  will  discover  his  dorman-t  talents,  and  he  will  be  com- 
pelled to  forego  his  reluctance  to  guide  the  destinies  of  his  native 
state." 

"  It  can  be  nothing  but  liis  modesty,"  rejoined  Kate,  -  that 


,      AN     INTERLUDE.  299 

keeps  him  in  the  background  now.  He  never  would  have  been 
beaten  three  times  for  Congress,  if  he  had  not  been  so  diffi- 
dent." 

"  He  is  what  I  denominate  emphatically,"  said  Prudence,  "  a 
man  of  lofty  sentiments  :  nothing  sordid,  nothing  paltry,  nothing 
tawdry,  nothing — " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Kate,  "  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  Such  sound  opinions  !" 

"  And  spoken  in  such  chaste  language  !" 

"  Such  a  strain  of  charity  !  such  a  beautiful  commingling  of 
the  virtues  that  mollify,  with  the  principles  that  fortify,  the 
heart !" 

"  Such  a  rare  union  !"  echoed  Kate. 

Never  has  the  world  seen  more  perfect  harmony  than  that 
which  ruled  in  the  counsels  of  our  two  damsels. 

At  length  they  fell  into  a  speculation  upon  the  question,  why 
he  did  not  marry.  Women  consider,  very  naturally,  life  to  be  a 
sort  of  comedy,  and  constantly  look  to  see  the  hero  pairing  off  by 
way  of  preparation  for  the  catastrophe.  They  agreed  that  there 
were  not  many  of  the  sex  who  would  not  think  themselves  fortu- 
nate in  an  overture  from  Mr.  Swansdown.  But  it  was  allowed 
that  he  was  fastidious.  It  resulted  from  the  peculiar  nature  of 
his  organization. 

"  I  confess,"  said  Prudence,  "  it  puzzles  me.  It  is  one  of  the 
inexplicable  arcana  of  human  action  that  I  cannot  explain." 

"  Nor  I,  neither,"  replied  Kate. 

"  There  are  men,"  said  Miss  Meriwether,  "  of  such  attenuated 
fibre,  that  they  shrink  at  the  rude  touch  of  reality.  They  have 
the  sensitiveness  of  the  mimosa,  and  find  their  affections  withering 
up  where  the  blast  of  scrutiny  blows  too  roughly  upon  them.  Such 
a  man  is  Singleton." 

"  I  believe  that  is  very  true,"  rejoined  Miss  Tracy ;  ••  and 


300  AN     INTERLUDE. 

besides,  I  think  Mr.  Swansdown  is  a  little  dashed  by  being  refused 
so  often." 

To  this  succeeded  a  shrewd  inquiry  as  to  what  was  his  present 
purpose. 

"  For,"  said  Prudence,  "  it  is  quite  clear  to  me  that  he  medi- 
tates an  important  revolution  in  his  fate." 

"  Prudence,  I  have  lately  taken  up  the  same  idea." 

"  There  is  something,"  continued  Prudence,  "  in  his  thoughts 
that  disturbs  him.  He  is  variable,  vacillating,  and  visionary : 
sometimes,  you  would  suppose,  all  mirthful  exuberance. — if  vour 
opinion  were  governed  by  the  beaming  expression  of  his  face, — 
but,  when  he  speaks,  it  is  only  to  say  some  common-place  thing, 
with  an  air  of  earnestness,  that  shows  his  thoughts  to  be  looking 
upon  some  invisible  idea.  He  is,  at  other  times,  so  pensive,  that 
one  would  think  '  melancholy  had  marked  him  for  her  own.' 
What  can  it  signify  ?" 

"  Can  he  have  taken  a  religious  turn?"  asked  Kate,  with  an 
air  of  wonder. 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  thoughtfully. — "  It  has  the  fitfulness 
of  genius  distracted  by  its  own  emotions.  It  is  not  religion  :  we 
should  wish  it  were  so.  But  it  is  not  that.  It  is  the  agitation 
of  sensibility. — An  imaginative  temperament  recreating  amidst 
the  attractive  creations  of  its  own  handiwork." 

"  Oh,  Prudence  !  how  much  that  is  like  Swansdown  himself?" 

"  I  think,"  returned  Miss  Meriwether,  "  I  have  studied  his 
character  well.  And,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear  Catharine, 
I  fancy  he  recognizes  some  affinity  between  us.  I  perceive  that 
when  he  is  anxious  to  share  his  thoughts  with  a  friend,  he  flies  to 
me  ;  and  it  strangely  happens,  that  some  secret  instinct  brings  us 
into  that  holy  confidence,  where  friendship  puts  on  its  garb  of 
naked  simplicity,  and  ideas  flow  together  on  the  same  high  road, 
without  reserve." 


AN     INTERLUDE.  301 

"  Indeed  !  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  intimate  with  Mr. 
wansdown.     It  is  strange  it  should  have  escaped  me." 

"  Why,  it  was  sudden.     It  is  wonderful  to  think  how  long 

vo  spirits   may  associate   in  the  same  sphere  without  striking 

pen  that  chord  which  vibrates  in  unison  in  the  hearts  of  both. 

■ut  for  an  accidental  walk  we  took  three  or  four  mornings  ago, 

efore  breakfast,  I  doubt  if  I  should  ever  have  been  brought  to 

U  |iat  conviction  which  I  entertain  of  his  high  qualities.     And, 

ke  him  altogether,  Kate,  I  think  him  a  timid  man.     He  is  even 

mid  in  his  intercourse  with  me  ;  although  he  passes  so  many 

oments  in  my  company," 

"  I  did  not  think  him  timid,"  said  Kate. 

"  Oh,  Tam  sure  that  he  is  so,  my  dear  !  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
ith  that  frankness  which  should  preside  over  the  breathings  of 
.violable  friendship,  I  have  no  question,  from  his  manner,  that 
5  has  something  of  a  very  delicate  nature." — 

"  No  !  Prudence  !  You  don't  think  so  !  My  dear,  you  de- 
iive  yourself.  You  are  entirely  mistaken  in  his  views.  Indeed, 
know  you  are,"  cried  Catharine  with  energy. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  sure  I  am  not,  Kate.  I  have  it  in  every  thing 
it  words." 

"  Then,"  said  Kate  with  emphasis,  "  there's  no  faith  in  man  !" 

"  Why  not,  my  dear  Catharine  ?" 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  replied  the  other,  in  a  tremulous, 
urmuring  voice.  '•  The  thing  is  not  worth  investigating.  From 
ly  other  lips  than  yours,  Pru,  I  never  would  have  believed  that 
(vansdown  harbored  such  a  thought.  Well,  I  wish  you  joy  of 
mr  conquest.     I  renounce — " 

"  Heavens,  Catharine  !  Do  I  understand  you  right  ?  What 
dreadful  truth  do  you  divulge  to  my  mind  !  I  comprehend 
pur  silence,  my  dearest  Catharine,  and  do  not  ask  an  explanation, 
j3cause  I  see  it  all.  This  is  one  of  the  crudest  bolts  that  Fate 
as  treasured  up  in  her  quiver." 


302  AN     INTERLUDE.  f 

"  What  shall  we  do,  my  dear  Prudence  ?  I  am  all  amaj 
ment !" 

"  Po  !     What  ought  we  to  do,  but  banish  him  from  our  fav  \ 
as  a  false-hearted  minion :  banish  him  to  the  antarctic  circle  ; 
our  regard,  and  fix  upon  him  the  indelible  stain  of  our  displeasur< 
From  this  moment  I  discard  him  from  my  heart." 

"  And  I  from  mine,"  said  Catharine. 

"  Now  we  are  free."  cried  Prudence.  "  Is  it  not  lucky  tb 
we  have  had  this  interview  ?" 

"  Most  fortunate.     But  are  you  sure,  my  dear  Prudence,  th; 
you  have  not  made  some  mistake?     Do  you  think  he  serious 
aimed  at  entrapping  3'our  aflfections  ?" 

"  Sure,  my  love  !     He  did  every  thing  that  man  could  do,  aij 
said  every  thing  that  man  could  say,  short  of  falling  on  his  1 
and  offering  me  his  hand." 

"  What  unparalleled  perfidy  !  When  I  contrast  what  you  t» 
me  with  what  I  know,  and  for  seven  long  months  have  so  fi 
quently  experienced — " 

"  For  seven  months  ?" 

"  For  seven  months,  believe  me,  my  dear  Prudence,  for  sev 
months." 

"  Why  he  told  me,  Catharine,  only  this  morning,  that  he  ncT 
could  grow  intimate  with  you.  That  you  had  a  reserve  in  yo 
manners  which  repelled  all  advances  ;  that — " 

"  Good  .heavens  !    does    Swansdown  say  so  1      There  is 
hypocrisy  in  that,  my  dear  Prudence,  which  shocks  me.     He  b 
had  some  sinister  design." 

"  Oh  !  forbear,  Catharine.  Do  not  mention  it.  I  alwa 
thought  him  somewhat  worldly-minded  ;  a  little  hollow-heart( 
He  shows  it  in-  the  expression  of  his  countenance." 

"  Particularly,"  replied   Catharine,  "  about  the  eyes,  when 
smiles.     Do  you  know,  I  always  suspected  him.     I  have  a  horr 


AN     INTERLUDE.  303 

of  a  man  of  extravagant  professions,  and  have  often  doubted  tho 
sincerity  of  Swansdown." 

''  Sincerity !  Let  not  the  word  be  profaned  by  wedding  it 
■A'ith  his  name.  It  is  plain,  that  all  those  apparently  deep  emotions 
ny  which  he  vainly  endeavored  to  wrench  from  me — yes,  to  wrench 
jfrom  me,  my  affections,  were  but  the  false  glitter  that  plays  about 
;:he  sunny  summit  of  worldly  profession." 

"  But  when  you  tell  me,"  said  Catharine,  interrupting  her 
'ricnd,  '-that  he  has  made  an  assault  upon  your  affections,  I  am 
.est  in  amazement.  He  has  twenty  times  insinuated  to  me,  that 
dthough  he  thought  you  a  woman  of  some  pretensions,  yet  you 
yere  the  last  woman  in  the  world  that  could  interest  his  regard. 
He  said  he  thought  your  manners  unnatural,  and  your  tone  of 
eeling  superficial.     I  recollect  his  very  words." 

"  What  reason  have  I  to  be  thankful,"  exclaimed  Prudence, 
lasping  her  hands,  ^-  that  I  have  escaped  the  snare  he  has  infused 
nto  my  cup  !  He  has  been  lavish  of  expedients  to  entrap  me. 
|iVould  you  believe  it,  Catharine,  he  has  actually  written  a  long, 
md,  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say,  talented  letter,  depicting 
he  misery  of  the  Greek  matrons,  and  their  devotion  to  the  cause 
j»f  their  country,  with  a  view  to  gratify  me,  and  inspire  me  with  a 
oftier  sentiment  of  admiration  for  him.  He  was  aware  of  my 
jcal  in  that  cause." 

'  "  The  Greeks  !"  said  Catharine.  '■  Does  he  pretend  to  be  an 
'dvocate  for  the  cause  of  the  Greeks  ?  His  precise  words  to  me 
rere,  that  he  thouofht  the  Greeks  the  most  barbarous,  the  most 
uninteresting,  and  the  vilest  wretches  in  the  world." 

"  The  infidel !  the  preposterous  man  !  What  a  fatal  mildew 
aust  have  struck  its  fangs  into  the  understanding  and  the  heart 
f  the  being  that  uttered  such  a  sentiment !  And  then,  what 
ypocrisy  must  have  varnished  his  face,  whilst  his  pen  traced  his 
ppeal  to  the  sensibilities  of  Virginia  in  behalf  of  the  suffering 
>atriots  ! 


304  AN     INTERLUDE. 

"  It  could  not  have  been  his  own,"  replied  Catharine. 

"  Indeed,  I  should  doubt  it  myself,"  said  Prudence,  '•  if  it  wi 
not  remarkable  for  those  affected  ornaments  of  style  which 
'figure  even  the  best  of  his  effusions.  You  may  easily  see  tha' 
abounds  in  those  vicious  decorations  which  betray  a  false  tai 
those  superfluous  redundancies  that  sparkle  out  in  his  comp 
tions,  like  the  smothered  embers  of  an  extinguished  furnace." 

"  I  think,"  added  Catharine,  "  that  it  will  invariably  be  fou: 
that  a  bad  heart — " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  that  is  perfectly  true :  a  bad  heart  never  pi 
pen  to  paper,  but  its  guardian  imp  stands  at  its  elbow,  and  infm 
into  the  composition  a  spice  of  hypocrisy.  And  had  he  the  ; 
surance  to  say  that  he  thought  my  manners  unnatural  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  said  you  were  stiff  and  formal,  and  almost  inace 
sible." 

"  That  shows  his  poverty  of  thought,  Catharine  ;  for  he  ma) 
use  of  the  same  terms  in  reference  to  you." 

"He  said  he  thought  it  strange,"  continued  Catharine,  -^i), 
you  should  fancy  you  were  doing  good  by  circulating  tracts,  j 
observed  this  was  another  of  your  follies ;  that  these  tracts — " 

"  And  so  he  had  the  effrontery  to  attack  the  Tract  Societ}' 

"  He  had,  and  went  further ;  he  remarked  that  the  soci  ' 
was  a  mere  invention  to  give  employment  to  busy-bodies  8 1 
country-gossips." 

"Heavens  and  earth!  had  he  the  rashness  to  question  ' 
motives  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  he  had ;  and  called  you  one  of  the  immaculate ' 

"  Then,  I  am  done  with  man.  Depend  upon  it,  Cathari , 
the  sex  is  not  to  be  trusted.  There  is  a  natural  propinquit;- 
proclivity  I  mean — in  this  baser  part  of  creation,  to  undervo  3 
all  that  is  virtuous.  I  never  saw  one  man  whose  impulses  Vi  c- 
not  essentially  wicked." 


AN     INTERLUDE.  305 


DeTtfj 
uiiiiji 

ttiiM 
fb 

in?,' 

ICL- 

:-]■:! 


,     "  Nor  I.  neither,  except  my  father,"  replied  Catharine. 

"  Of  course,  I  except  my  brother  Frank,"    said  Prudence. 
i'  Henceforward  I  abjure  the  sex." 
1      "  I  think  I  will  too,"  said  Catharine  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  Well  now,  Catharine,"  continued  Miss  Meriwether,  "  it  be- 
i3omes  us  to  take  a  decided  part  in  reference  to  this  Mister 
Swansdown." 

"  What  do  you  propose,  Pru  ?" 

"  To  treat  him  with  that  cutting  coldness  which  we  both  so 
ifirell  know  how  to  assume." 

"  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  make  him  of  so  much  importance." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Prudence,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  per- 
aps  you  are  right.  There  is  nothing  puffs  up  these  lords  of 
'creation  so  much  as  to  find  our  sex  guilty  of  the  weakness  of 
^ven  the  homage  of  contempt.  Suppose  we  indicate  to  him  by 
lour  manner  that  we  have  unveiled  his  treachery,  and  show  him, 
that  although  it  has  been  so  assiduous  to  insinuate  himself  into 
our  good  opinion,  we  regard  him  as  an  object  of  perfect  indiffer- 
ence." 

"  As  one,"  added  Catharine,  "  whose  ways  were  known  to  us." 

"  Whose  fate,"  said  Prudence,  in  continuation,  '•  is  a  subject 
that  has  never  occupied  our  thoughts." 

"  Whose  duplicity  has  failed  of  its  aim,"  said  Catharine. 

''  Whose  tergiversation  and  ambidexterity  have  alike  excited 
our  ridicule,"  replied  Prudence. 

"  Agreed  !  let  us  do  so,"  continued  Catharine  : — '•  how  shall 
we  manage  it  ?" 

"  By  our  looks,  my  dear  Catharine  !  I  will  look  into  the  deep- 
est recesses  of  his  heart  with  a  glance,  and  wither  him  into  a 
spectacle  of  scorn." 

"  Looks  may  do  a  great  deal,"  replied  Catharine,  "  and  I  will 
regulate  my  demeanor  by  yours.  "  I  am  glad  we  have  found  him 
out !" 


306 


AN    INTERLUDE, 


"  Let  us  retire  to  rest,  my  dear/'  said  the  other.     "  Let  us 
our  prayers,  and  be  thankful  that  we  have  escaped  these  impen 
ing  dangers." 

For  a  while,  all  was  silent.  But  at  midnight  again,  and  loi 
afterwards,  a  buzzing  sound  of  suppressed  voices  was  heard  fro 
the  chamber. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


SUMMER    MORNINGS. 


N  the  country  every  thing  wears  a  Sunday  look.     The  skies  have 

deeper  blue,  the  clouds  rest  upon  them  like  painting.     The  soft 

jutter  of  the  groves  hushes  one  into  silence.     The  chirp  of  the 

Irasshopper,  as  he  leaps  in  his  short  semi-circles  along  your  path, 

as  the  feebleness  of  a  whisper ;  and  the  great  vagabond  butter- 

iy,  which  gads  amongst  the  thistles,  moves  noiseless  as  a  strag- 

ling  leaf  borne  upon  a  zephyr.     Then,  there  is  a  lowing  of  cows 

'pon  a  distant  meadow,  and  a  scream  of  jay-birds,  heard  at  inter- 

als ;  the  sullen  hammer  of  a  lonely  woodpecker  resounds  from 

)me  withered  trunk  ;  and,  high  above,  a  soaring  troop  of  crows, 

oarse  with  cawing,  send  forth  a  far-off  note.     Sometimes  a  huge 

ad  miry  mother  of  the  sty,  with  her  litter  of  querulous  pigs, 

eps  leisurely  across  the  foreground ;  and  a  choir  of  locusts  in 

10  neighboring  woods  spin  out  a  long  stave  of  music,  like  the 

upils  of  a  singing-school  practising  the  elements  of  psalmody. 

till,  this  varied  concert  falls  faintly  upon  the  ear,  and  only  seems 

)  measure  silence. 

Our  morning  pursuits  at  Swallow  Barn  partake  somewhat  of 
le  quiet  character  of  the  scenery.  Frank  Meriwether  is  an  early 
iser  at  this  season,  and  generally  breakfasts  before  the  rest  of 
le  family.     This  gives  him  time  to  make  a  circuit  on  horseback, 


308  SUMMER     MORNINGS. 

to  inspect  the  progress  of  his  farm  concerns.     He  returns  befor 
the  heat  of  the   day,  and,  about  noon,  may  be  found  stretche  I 
upon  a  broad  settee  in  the  hall,  with  a  pile  of  books  on  the  floe 
beneath  him,  and  a  dozen  newspapers  thrown  around  in  grer 
confusion  :  not  unfrequently,  too,  he  is  overtaken  with  a  dec 
sleep,  with  a  volume  straddling  his  nose  ;  and  he  will  continue  i 
this  position,  gradually  snoring  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  key,  ui 
til  he  awakens  himself  by  a  sudden  and  alarming  burst  thatri! 
sembles  the  bark  of  a  mastiff.     He  says  the  old  clock  puts  hhj 
asleep,  and,  in  truth,  it  has  a  very  narcotic  vibration ;  but  Fran 
is  manifestly  growing  corpulent.     And,  what  is  a  little  amusio: 
he  protests  in  the  face  of  the  whole  family  that  he  does  not  snor 

The  girls  get  at  the  piano  immediately  after  breakfast ;  an 
Ned  and  myself  usually  commence  the  morning  with  a  stroll, 
there  happen  to  be  visitors  at  Swallow  Barn,  this  after-breakfa; 
hour  is  famous  for  debates.  We  then  all  assemble  in  the  pore 
and  fall  into  grave  discussions  upon  agriculture,  hunting,  ( 
horsemanship,  in  neither  of  which  do  I  profess  any  great  pr 
ficiency,  though  I  take  care  not  to  let  that  appear.  Some  of  tl 
party  amuse  themselves  with  throwing  pebbles  picked  from  tl 
gravel  walk,  or  draw  figures  upon  the  earth  with  a  cane^  as  if  ■: 
assist  their  cogitations ;  and  when  our  topics  grow  scarce,  t 
saunter  towards  the  bridge,  and  string  ourselves  out  upon  tl. 
rail,  to  watch  the  bubbles  that  float  down  the  stream  ;  and  a:i 
sometimes  a  good  deal  perplexed  to  know  what  we  shall  do  unl 
dinner  time. 

There  is  a  numerous  herd  of  little  negroes  about  the  estati 
and  these  sometimes  afford  us  a  new  diversion.  A  few  mornin;,, 
since,  we  encountered  a  horde  of  them,  who  were  darting  aboi 
tlie  bushes  like  untamed  monkeys.  They  are  afraid  of  me,  l 
cause  I  am  a  stranger,  and  take  to  their  heels  as  soon  as  they  s 
me.      If  T  ever  chance  to  get  near   enough  to  sjieak  to  one 


1 


SUMMER     MORNINGS.  309 

.em,  he  stares  at  me  with  a  suspicious  gaze  ;  and,  after  a  mo- 
ent,  makes  off  at  full  speed,  very  much  frightened,  towards  the 
(bins  at  some  distance  from  the  house.  They  are  almost  all 
Jid  in  a  long  coarse  shirt  which  reaches  below  the  knee,  without 
ay  other  garment :  but  one  of  the  group  we  met  on  the  morning 
jspeak  of,  was  oddly  decked  in  a  pair  of  ragged  trowscrs,  con- 
flicuous  for  their  ample  dimensions  in  the  seat.  These  had 
^idently  belonged  to  some  grown-up  person,  but  were  cut  sLort 
i|the  legs  to  make  them  fit  the  wearer.  A  piece  of  twine  across 
i3  shoulder  of  this  grotesque  imp,  served  for  suspenders,  and 
Ipt  his  habiliments  from  falling  about  his  feet.  Ned  ordered 
t.s  crew  to  prepare  for  a  foot-race,  and  proposed  a  reward  of  a 
pee  of  money  to  the  winner.  They  were  to  run  from  a  given 
jSint.  about  a  hundred  paces  distant,  to  the  margin  of  the  brook, 
(jir  whole  suite  of  dogs  were  in  attendance,  and  seemed  to  un- 
olrstand  our  pastime.  At  the  word,  away  went  the  bevy,  accom- 
jjiied  by  every  dog  of  the  pack,  the  negroes  shouting  and  the 
dj^s  yelling  in  unison.  The  skirts  ran  with  prodigious  vehe- 
njnce,  their  speed  exposing  their  bare,  black,  and  meager  shanks, 
t(jthe  scandal  of  all  beholders  ;  and  the  strange  baboon  in  trow- 
s  struggled  close  in  their  rear,  with  ludicrous  earnestness, 
ding  up  his  redundant  and  troublesome  apparel  with  his  hand, 
a  moment  they  reached  the  brook  with  unchecked  speed  ;  and, 
the  banks  were  muddy,  and  the  dogs  had  become  tangled  with 
tl  racers  in  their  path,  two  or  three  were  precipitated  into  the 
wj;er.  This  only  increased  the  meriiment,  and  they  continued 
tl|  contest  in  this  new  element,  by  floundering,  kicking,  and 
S]'ishing  about,  like  a  brood  of  ducks  in  their  first  descent  upon 
^  ool.  These  young  negroes  have  wonderfully  flat  noses,  and 
tl  most  oddly  disproportioned  mouths,  which  were  now  opened 
tcheir  full  dimensions,  so  as  to  display  their  white  teeth  in 
sljking  contrast  with  their  complexions.     They  are  a  strange 


310  SUMMER     MORNINGS. 

pack  of  antic  and  careless  animals,  and  furnish  the  liveliest  ? 
ture  that  is  to  be  found  in  nature,  of  that  rafce  of  swart  fail  < 
which,  in  the  old  time,  were  supposed  to  play  their  pranks  in  _> 
forest  at  moonlight.     Ned  stood  by,  enjoying  this  scene  likei    ! 
amateur ;  encouraging  the  negroes  in  their  gambols,  and  hal . 
ing  to  the  dogs,  that  by  a  kindred  instinct  entered  tumultuouf^   I 
into  the  sport  and  kept  up  the  confusion.     It  was  difficult  to  • 
cide  the  contest.     So  the  money  was  thrown  into  the  air,  anc  ~ 
it  fell  to  the  ground,  there  was  another  rush,  in  which  the  h  p   J 
of  the  trowsers  succeeded  in  getting  the  small  coin  from 
ground  in  his  teeth,  somewhat  to  the  prejudice  of  his  finery. 

E-ip  asserts  a  special  pre-eminence  over  these  young  serfs, ;  1 
has  drilled  them  into  a  kind  of  local  militia.  He  sometimes  9 
them  all  marshalled  in  the  yard,  and  entertains  us  with  a  revi  . 
They  have  an  old  watering-pot  for  a  drum,  and  a  dingy  pool  - 
handkerchief  for  a  standard,  under  which  they  are  arrayed  1 
military  order.  As  they  have  no  hats  amongst  them,  Rip  ma  s 
each  stick  a  cock's  feather  in  his  wool ;  and  in  this  guise  t  v 
parade  over  the  grounds  with  a  riotous  clamor,  in  which  K 
shrill  voice,  and  the  clink  of  the  old  watering-pot,  may  be  he  1 
at  a  great  distance. 

Besides  these  occupations,  Hazard  and  myself  frequently  i  ' 
out  during  the  morning ;  and  we  are  apt  to  let  our  horses  t 
their  own  way.     This  brings  us  into  all  the  by-places  of 
neighborhood,  and  makes  me  many  acquaintances.      Lucy  ;  1 
Victorine  often  accompany  us,  and  I  have    occasion  to  adn 
their  expert  horsemanship.     They  have  each  a  brisk  little,  p<  >' 
and  these  are  wonderful  favorites  with  them  ;  and,  to  hear  tl  n 
talk,  you  would  suppose  them  versed  in  all  the  affairs  of  *' 
stable. 

With  such  amusements,  we  contrive  to  pass  our  mornii  % 
not  listlessly,  but  idly.     This  course  of  life  has  a  winpiug  qua  v 


SUMMER     MORNINGS.  311 

that  already  begins  to  exercise  its  influence  upon  my  habits. 
There  is  a  fascination  in  the  quiet,  irresponsible,  and  reckless  na- 
ture of  these  country  pursuits,  that  is  apt  to  seize  upon  the  im- 
agination of  a  man  who  has  felt  the  perplexities  of  business. 
Ever  since  I  have  been  at  Swallow  Barn,  I  have  entertained  a 
very  philosophical  longing  for  the  calm  and  dignified  retirement 
of  the  woods.  I  begin  to  grow  moderate  in  my  desires  ;  that  is, 
I  only  want  a  thousand  acres  of  good  land,  an  old  manor-house, 
on  a  pleasant  site,  a  hundred  negroes,  a  large  library,  a  host  of 
friends,  and  a  reserve  of  a  few  thousands  a  year  in  the  stocks,— 
in  case  of  bad  crops, — and,  finally,  a  house  full  of  pretty,  intelli- 
gent, and  docile  children,  with  some  few  et  ceteras  not  worth  men- 
tioning. 

I  doubt  not,  after  this,  I  shall  be  considered  a  man  of  few 
wants,  and  great  resources  within  myself. 


CHAPTER  XXXII, 


A     COUNTRY     GATHERING. 


The  day  that  followed  our  adventure  in  the  Goblin  Swamp  wr 
a  busy  one.     We  were  to  have  our  dinner  party  at  Swallow  Bar:. 

At  an  early  hour,  before  breakfast  a  servant  waited  at  t\ 
front  door  for  Hazard's  orders.  This  was  a  negro  boy  equippe 
for  service  on  horseback.  He  was  rather  more  trig  in  his  appea 
ance  than  I  was  accustomed  to  see  the  servants.  From  h 
jockey  air,  and  the  conceited  slant  he  had  given  to  an  old  dar 
colored  cap  with  a  yellow  band,  which  stuck  upon  one  side  of  h 
head,  I  was  not  wrong  in  my  conjecture  that  he  had  somethii 
to  do  with  the  race-horses.  He  was  mounted  upon  one  of  th 
stock;  a  tall,  full-blooded  bay,  just  ready  to  start,  when  Hazai, 
came  to  .instruct  him  in  the  purpose  of  his  errand. 

"Ganymede,"  said  Ned,  "you  will  go  to  the  Court  Hou5 
and  give  my  compliments — " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  messenger,  with  a  joyful  countenance. 

— "  To  Mister  Toll  Hedges  and  the"  doctor,  and  tell  them  th' 
we  expect  some  friends  here  at  dinner  to  day." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  shouted  the  negro,  and  striking  his  heels  into  h 
horse's  sides  at  the  same  instant,  plunged  forward  some  paces. 

"  Come  back,"  cried  Ned  ;  "  what  are  you  going  after  ?" 

"  To  ax  Mas  Toll  Hedges  and  the  doctor  to  come  here  to  di 
ner  to-day,"  returned  the  impatient  boy. 


A     COUNTRY     G  ATHEILINC;.  313 

"  Wait  until  you  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  you,"  continued 
Ned.  "  Say  to  them  that  your  Master  Frank  will  be  glad  to  see 
them ;  and  that  I  wish  them  to  bring  any  bod}-  along  with  then: 
they  choose." 

"  That's  all !"    exclaimed  the  negro   again,  and  once   more 
■  hounded  off  towards  the  high  road. 

'•  You  black  rascal !"  cried  Ned  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and 

i laughing,  "come  back  again.     You  are  in  a  monstrous  hurry. 

1 1  wish  you  would  show  something  of  this  activity  when  it  is  more 

wanting.     Now.  hear  me  out.     Tell  them,  if  they  see  the  'squire, 

to  bring  him  along." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  as  you  pass  by  Mr.  Braxton  Beverly's,  stop  there,  and 
ask  him  if  he  will  favor  us  with  his  company.  And  if  he  cannot 
come  himself,  tell  him  to  send  us  some  of  the  family.  Tell  him 
to  send  them,  at  any  rate.  Let  me  see  ;  is  there  any  body  else? 
If  you  meet  any  of  the  gentlemen  about,  give  them  my  compli- 
ments, and  tell  them  to  come  over." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Now  can  you  remember  it  all  ?" 

"Never  fear  me,  Mas  Ned,"  said  the  negro,  with  his  low- 
country,  broad  pronunciation,  that  entirely  discards  the  letter  R. 

"  Then  be  off,"  cried  Hazard,  "  and  let  me  hear  of  no  loiter- 
ing on  the  road." 

"  That's  me  !"  shouted  Ganymede,  in  the  same  tone  of  exces- 
sive spirits  he  evinced  on  his  first  appearance.  "  I'll  be  bound  I 
make  tracks  !"  and,  saying  this,  the  negro  flourished  his  hand 
above  his  head,  struck  his  heels  again  on  the  horse's  ribs,  hallooed 
with  a  wild  scream,  and  shot  forward  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow. 

Soon  after  breakfast  the  visitors  from  The  Brakes  began  to 
appear.     First  came  Prudence  Meriwether  with  Catharine,  in  Mr. 
Tracy's  carriage.     About  an  hour  afterwards,  Swansdown's  glit- 
14 


314  A     COUNTRY     GATHERING. 

i 

tering  curricle  arrived,  bringing  Bel  Tracy  under  the  convoy 
the  gentleman  himself.  After  another  interval,  Harvey  Eig 
and  Ralph  followed  on  horseback.  Mr.  Tracy  had  not  accoi 
panied  either  of  these  parties ;  but  Harvey  brought  an  assuran 
from  him  that  he  would  be  punctual  to  the  engagement. 

A  dinner  party  in  the  country  is  not  the  premeditated,  anxio : 
affair  it  is  in  town.     It  has  nothing  of  that  long,  awful  inten ! 
between  the  arrival  of  the  guests  and  the  serving  up  of  the  dish« . 
when  men  look  in  each  other's  faces  with  empty  stomachs,  ai 
utter  inane  common-places  with  an  obvious  air  of  insincerity, 
not  of  actual  suffering.     On  the  contrary,  it  is  understood  to 
a  regular  spending  of  the  day,  in  which  the  guests  assume  all  t 
privileges  of  inmates,  sleep  on  the  sofas,  lounge  through  the  hal 
read  the  newspapers,  stroll  over  the  grounds,  and,  if  pinched 
appetite,  stay  their  stomachs  with  bread  and  butter,  and  tod 
made  of  choice  old  spirits. 

There  were  several  hours  yet  to  be  passed  before  dinner-tin 
Our  company,  therefore,  began  to  betake  themselves  to  such  ^ 
cupations  as  best  sorted  with  their  idle  humors.     Harvey  Ri£ 
had  already  communicated  to  me  the  incidents  I  have  record 
of  the  interview   between  Prudence  and  Catharine,  and  our  cc 
osity  had  been  accordingly  aroused  to  see  in  what  way  the  t 
damsels  intended  to  pursue  the  measures  which  both  had  vot». 
necessary  in  their  emergency.     An  occasion  now  occurred  to  | 
them  in  practice.     Prudence  was  seated  at  the  piano  strummi : 
a  tune ;  Swansdown  was  in  the  courtyard,  looking  through  i) 
open  window,  with  a  flower  in  his  hand  regaling  his  nose,  a 
listening  to  the  strains,  the  syren  strains,  that  fell  from  his  f ' 
enemy.     Presently  the  piano  ceased,  the  maiden  turned  careles: 
towards  the  window.    Swansdown  put  on  a  winning  smile,  sji 
some  unheard,  gallant  thing,  and  presented  the  nosegay  to  1  > 
lady.     She  smelt  it,  and  sat  down  at  that  very  window.     T  ' 


A     COUNTRY     GATHERING.  315 

osition  brought  her  ear  right  opposite  the  gentleman's  lips.  It 
}  pretty  obvious  what  must  follow,  when  a  cavalier  has  such  an 
•  dvantage  over  even  an  angry  dame.  Soon  Prudence  was  obser. 
'  ed  to  smile  ;  and,  straightway,  the  conference  became  soft  and 
)W,  accompanied  with  earnest,  sentimental  looks,  and  ever  and 
'  bon  relieved  by  a  fluttering,  short,  ambiguous,  and  somewhat 
•■  teathless  laugh.  It  was  plain,  Prudence  was  enforcing  her 
J  jictics.     She  was  heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  the  head  of  the  luck- 

■  ;ss  swain.  In  truth,  if  she  yet  nursed  her  wrath,  it  seemed  to 
'"  ave  grown  monstrous  charitable.  Perhaps  she  relented  in  her 
'  tern  purpose,  and  gave  way  to  the  gentler  emotions  of  pity,  in 
'  le  hope  of  converting  the  sinner.  Perhaps  she  had  tempered 
i  er  censure  of  man's  oblicjuities,  by  the  spontaneous  and  irresist- 
'i  )le  overflow  of  her  own  tenderness  ;  or,  perhaps  she  had  been 
■-!   Itogether  in  a  mistake.     Whatever  was  the  truth,  her  present 

furpose,  motive,  and  action,  certainly  seemed  to  me  marvellously 
s    lexplicable. 

:i  Whilst  this  private  interview  was  going  on,  the  members  of 
i  le  household  passed  freely  along  the  hall.  A  drawing  would 
1  liow  my  reader  how  one  might  have  looked  thence  into  the  par- 
::  )r,  and  seen  the  position  of  the  speakers  ;  and  how  from  the  lit- 
I  e  porch  where  Harvey  and  I  were  seated,  we  could  discern 
;  wansdown  through  a  screen  of  rose-bushes,  as  he  stood  with  his 
?  ead  rather  inside  of  the  casement.  But,  for  want  of  a  good  map 
1    r  sketch  of  the  premises,  these  things  must  be  conceived.     At 

■  pngth  Catharine,  who  till  now  had  been  engaged  with  other  cares, 
hd  who  had,  I  presume,  supposed  that  the  war  against  the  per- 

3  jdious  poet,  philosopher,  and  future  pillar  of  the  state,  was  to  be 
i  De  of  extermination,  came  flaunting  along  the  hall,  carolling  a 
li  ay  tune,  and  wearing  an  outside  of  unaccustomed  levity.  When 
.'  pe  arrived  opposite  the  parlor  door,  the  same  phenomenon  that 
'    |ad  put  us  at  fault  seemed  all  at  once  to  strike  her.     An  emo- 


316  A     COUNTRY     GATHERING. 


kf- 


tion  of  surprise  was  visible  upon  her  countenance.  She  passe 
went  back,  looked  into  the  parlor,  hesitated,  returned  towards  tl 
front  door,  stood  still  a  moment  in  a  fit  of  abstraction,  wheele 
round,  and  finally  entered  the  room  with  a  face  all  smoothne^ 
and  pleasure.  Her  plans  were  concerted  during  these  motion 
Her  accost  was  playful,  loud,  and  even  unusually  gracious  ;  an 
from  that  moment  the  trio  fell  into  an  easy,  voluble,  and  pleasai 
discourse,  in  which  the  two  ladies  talked  without  intermissicn,  an 
without  listening  to  each  other,  for  a  good  half  hour. 

"  That's  strange  1"  said  Harvey,  looking  at  me  with  a  fac, 
full  of  wonder.  ' 

"  You  have  misrepresented  them,  Harvey,"  said  I, 
"  Not  a  jot ;  for  Bel  has  had  the  whole  detailed  to  her,  nc' 
exactly  in  the  words  I  have  given  you,  but  in  substance,  frori 
each  of  them  separately  this  morning.     They  have  both,  in  turji 
confided  to  her  the  conversation  of  last  night ;  and,  like  a  goo  \ 
secret-keeper,  she  has  told  it  all  to  me, — knowing  my  anxiety  i  i 
the  matter, — but  with  a  strict  injunction  that  it  was  to  go  D  | 
further.     And  so  I,  in  order  that  I  may  have  a  witness  to  m 
fidelity,  have  told  it  all  to  you,  who  of  course  will  understand  i 
as  confidential,  and  not  permit  a  word  of  it  to  escape  your  lip; 
There  you  have  the  whole  pedigree  of  the  secret,  and  you  see  tha 
I  am  as  close  as  a  woman.     In  the  detail,  I  have  not  in  any  di: 
gree  impaired  the  excellence  of  the  story,  I  assure  yon."  ; 

"  Then  the  wind  blows  from  another  quarter  to-day,"  said  I  ^t 
"  The  thing  is  perfectly  plain,"  said  Harvey  ;  "  that  solemij 
ass,  Swansdown,  has  a  greater  hold  on  these  women  than  they  ar ! 
willing  to  allow  to  each  other.     Prudence  is  not  quite  agreed  tij 
trust  Kate  ;  and  Kate  is  half  inclined  to  disbelieve  every  wori 
that  Prudence  has  toM  her.     And  both  of  them  think  it  at  lea? 
very  probable  that  there  is  some  mistake  in  the  matter.     So,  fo 
fear  there  might  be  a  mistake,  Pru  has  set  about  making  a  d( 
monstration  for  herself;    and  Kate  has  taken  the  alarm  froi 


iii 


A     COUNTRY     C  A  THE  RING.  317 

what  she  lias  discovered,  and  is  afraid  that  Pru,  if  let  alone,  will 
get  the  whip-hand  of  her.  In  this  state  of  things,  they  have  dis- 
.solved  the  alliance,  and  each  one  is  coquetting  on  her  own  ac- 
count. It  is  something  like  a  panic  against  a  bank,  when  the 
creditors  are  all  dashing  in  to  get  the  jDreference  in  the  payment 
of  their  notes." 

Swansdown  was  at  last  relieved  from  the  spirited  lun  that  had 
been  made  upon  his  courtesy.  The  two  ladies  drew  oiF  to  other 
!  engagements,  and  the  disencumbered  gentleman  came  round  to 
the  door  where  we  were  sitting.  It  happened  that  Rip,  a  few 
moments  before,  had  been  released  from  school,  and  had  walked 
into  the  parlor  where  Prudence  and  Catharine  were  entertaining 
the  poet ;  but,  finding  them  earnestly  occupied,  had  made  a 
circuit  round  the  room  and  out  again  without  stopping,  and  then 
came  and  seated  himself  on  the  sill  of  the  front  door,  where  he 
remained  when  Swansdown  joined  our  party.  What  had  previ- 
ously been  occupying  Rip's  brain  I  know  not,  for  he  sat  silent 
and  abstracted ;  but  at  last,  drawing  up  his  naked  heels  on  the 
floor,  so  as  to  bring  his  knees  almost  in  contact  with  his  chin,  and 
embracing  bis  legs  with  his  arms,  in  such  manner  as  to  form  a 
hoop  round  them  with  his  fingers  interlaced,  he  looked  up  at  us 
with  a  face  of  some  perplexity,  as  he  broke  out  with  the  excla- 
mation,— 

'•  Dog  them  women  !     If  they  ar'nt  too  much  !" 

"  Whom  do  you  mean,  Rip  ?"  inquired  Harvey. 

"  Aunt  Pru  and  Catharine." 

"  What  have  they  been  doing  ?  you  seem  to  be  in  a  bad  hu- 
mor," , 

"  Oh,  dog  'em,  I  say  !  they  won't  let  Mr.  Swansdown  do  any 
thing  he  wants :  always  tagging  after  him.  (Swansdown  was  a 
great  favorite  of  Rip's,  principally  on  account  of  his  horses.)  I 
don't  wonder  he  don't  like  to  stay  with  them." 

"  What  fault  have  you  to  find  with  the  ladies,  Rip  ?"  asked 


318  A     COUNTRY     GATHERING. 

I 

Swansdown,  amused  with  the  boy's  manner.  '•  You  are  not  angrj, 
with  them  on  my  account,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am.  They're  always  a  talking  about  you.  For  mj 
share,  I  think  they  must  be  in  love  with  you." 

Here  Harvey  laughed  aloud.  "  What  do  they  say  of  Mr. 
Swansdown,  Rip  ?" 

'•  You  needn't  laugh,  Mr.  Riggs,"  said  Rip.  "  Havn't  I  heard 
them  both  talking  about  Mr.  Swansdown?  Oh,  oh!  I  wouldn't 
like  any  body  to  talk  about  me  so  !" 

"  I  hope  they  said  nothing  ill  of  me,  Rip  ?"  said  Swansdown, 
a  little  confused. 

"I  guess  they  didn't,"  replied  Rip.  "But  you  had  better 
look  out,  else  every  body  will  say  that  you  are  going  to  get  mar- 
ried to  both  of  them.     That  would  be  queer,  wouldn't  it?" 

"  But  you  havn't  told  us  what  they  said,"  interrupted  Har- 
vey. 

"  No  matter,  Rip,^  about  that,"  said  Swansdown.  "  We  must 
not  tell  tales  out  of  school,  you  know." 

"  Catch  me  !"  replied  Rip,  "  I'm  not  going  to  tell." 

Saying  these  words,  he  jumped  up  and  ran  off  to  his  sports, 
with  his  natural  careless  and  irresponsible  manner,  not  dreaming 
that  the  slightest  consequence  could  be  attached  to  any  thing  he 
had  uttered. 

This  simple  incident  had  a  sensible  influence  upon  the  conduct 
of  Swansdown  during  the  rest  of  the  day.  He  had  of  late  been 
haunted  by  an  apprehension  that  he  was  almost  ashamed  to 
acknowledge,  namely,  that  it  was  possible  his  civilities  both  to 
Prudence  and  Catharine  might  be  overrated  and  misconstrued. 
They  had  both  flattered  his  vanity,  and  allured  him  by  that  means 
into  a  somewhat  intimate  intercourse,  although  it  was  very  far 
from  kindling  up  a  serious  interest  in  his  feelings.  Still,  this 
attention  was  agreeable  to  him  ;  and  once  or  twice  the  suspicion 


A     COUNTRY     GATHERING.  310 

might  have  crossed  his  mind,  that  he  was  permitting  matters  to 
go  too  far  ;  an  indiscretion  which  he  foresaw  might  produce  some 
unpleasant  consequences.  It  was  in  this  state  of  doubt  that  he 
had  left  the  ladies  but  a  few  moments  since ;  and  it  was,  there- 
fore, with  something  of  trepidation  and  alarm  that  he  heard  Rip's 
abrupt  disclosure,  made  with  the  boyish  recklessness  I  have 
described.  Harvey  Riggs  saw  this,  and  was  inclined  to  make 
advantage  of  it ;  but  Rip  took  the  caution  inculcated  by  Swans- 
down,  and  frustrated  the  object.  The  most  amusing  feature  in 
the  whole  transaction  was,  that  it  brought  about  the  very  state  of 
things,  by  the  voluntary  choice  of  Swansdown,  that  Prudence 
and  Catharine,  on  their  part,  had  resolved  the  night  before  to 
compel ;  but  which  their  uncertain  and  distrustful  policy  to-day 
had  countervailed.  Swansdown  came  to  the  sudden  determination 
to  allay  the  false  hopes  he  had  raised,  by  assuming,  for  the  future, 
a  more  circumspect  and  reserved  behavior,  and,  as  soon  as  the 
opportunity  favored,  to  decamp  from  the  field  of  action,  and  make 
his  way  back  to  his  native  oaks,  where,  he  hoped,  his  absence 
would  in  a  short  time — at  least  in  as  short  a  time  as  so  sore  a 
disease  allowed — heal  up  the  wounds  his  innocent  and  unwary 
perfections  had  inflicted  upon  the  peace  of  two  unquiet  and  un- 
happy spinsters.  Full  of  this  sentiment,  he  suddenly  became 
pensive,  formal,  punctilious,  prosy,  and  cold.  Never  did  the 
thermometer  fall  more  rapidly  to  zero. 

Whilst  these  things  were  going  on,  our  company  continued  to 
assemble.  Two  odd-looking  figures  arrived  on  horseback  at  the 
gate,  followed  by  our  trusty  boy  Granymede,  who  had  staid  behind 
to  accompany  the  guests  he  had  been  sent  to  invite.  The  older 
of  the  two  was  the  doctor,  a  fat,  short-winded  gentleman,  dressed, 
notwithstanding  the  heat  of  the  season,  all  in  woollen  cloth. 
Behind  his  saddle  he  carried  a  small  valise,  such  as  gentlemen  of 
his  profession  use  in  the  country  for  the  conveyance  of  drugs  and 


320  A     COUNTRY     GATHERING. 

t 

medicines.  The  other  was  our  old  friend  Taliaferro  Hedges., 
considerably  improved  in  attire,  but  with  his  pantaloons — some! 
white  cotton  fabric — rubbed  up,  by  the  action  of  his  horse,  almost ; 
to  his  knees.  He  wore  his  broad,  shapeless,  and  tattered  straw ; 
hat,  that  flapped  over  his  eyes  with  a  supreme  air  of  waggishness ;  i 
and  as  he  dismounted  at  the  gate,  he  deliberately  disburdened' 

i 

his  mouth  of  a  quid  of  tobacco^  and  walked  up  to  the  door.  It; 
was  now  past  one  o'clock :  and  as  it  is  usual  in  this  part  of  Virgi-,j 
nia  to  follow  up  the  introduction  of  a  guest  at  this  hour  of  the; 
day  with  an  invitation  to  take  &ome  of  the  toddy,  our  new; 
comers  were  ushered  into  a  back  room,  where  an  immense  bowl^ 
had  been  prepared  by  Ned  Hazard,  who  was  there  present  witbl 
Meriwether  and  Mr.  Wart  to  administer  it.  f 

In  the  midst  of  the  jest,  clamor,  and  laughter  of  the  convoca-j 
tion  that  was  now  assembled,  admiring  and  doing  homage  to  thej 
icy  and  well-flavored  bowl,  other  visitors  were  introduced,  amongst! 
the  rest  Mr.  Braxton  Beverly,  an  extensive  breeder  of  sheep  and 
blooded  horses.     He  was  a  tall,  thin,  talkative  gentleman,  who 
had  an  authoritative  way  of  besieging  the  person  he  addressed,  and 
laying  down  the  heads  of  his  discourse  by  striking  the  fingers  of 
his  right  hand  upon  the  palm  of  his  left,  and  shaking  his  head . 
somewhat  as  I  have  seen  a  bullying  school-boy,  when  he  was  going 
to  fight.     Mr.  Chub  formed  a  part  of  this  group,  but  stood  rather- 
in  the  background,  with  his  hands  tucked  under  the  skirts  of  his 
coat,  so  as  to  throw  them  out  like  the  tail  of  a  bantam  cock,  whilst 
he  erected  his  figure  even  beyond  the  perpendicular  line.     For  a 
time,  this  was  a  busy  and  a  gay  scene,  characterized  by  the  exhi- ' 
bition  of  that  good-humored  and  natural  freedom  from  tlie  con- 
straint of  forms,  which  constitutes  one  of  the  most  unequivocal" 
features  of  a  genuine  hospitality.     The  tumult  gradually  subsided, ! 
as  the  several  personages  in  the  room  retreated  towards  the  hall ; 
and  it  was  not  long  before  the  whole  party  seemed  to  be  entirelj^ 


'0 


0 
lili 


A     cor  NTRY     GATHERING.  321 

omesticatcd,  and  had  separated  into  as  many  fragments  as  whim 
r  chance  produced.  Some  sauntered  towards  the  bridge,  and 
(lence  to  the  stable  ;  some  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  porch,  and 
iscussed  the  topics  that  interested  the  country ;  and  others 
landcred  as  far  as  the  schoolhouse,  whence  miglit  be  heard  an 
pcasional  obstreperous  laugh,  the  sudden  consequence  of  some 
jell-told  story. 

As  the  dinner  hour  drew  nigh,  our  scattered  forces  were  fast 
pncentrating  upon  one  point.  The  ladies  had  assembled  in  the 
rawing-room  ;  and  there  were  many  signs  that  could  not  bo 
istaken,  that  the  hour  dedicated  to  the  imperious  calls  of  appe- 
te  was  near  at  hand.  Still,  Mr.  Tracy  had  not  yet  appeared, 
ivers  sf  coulations  were  set  on  foot  as  to  the  cause  of  his  absence, 
[erhaps  he  had  forgotten  his  engagement ;  but  that  was  not 
•obable,  considering  how  careful  he  was  known  to  be  in  all  such 
atters ;  and  especially  after  the  interest  he  had  expressed  to 
lieve  Meriwether  from  the  sense  of  mortification  which  he 
.pposed  his  friend  felt  in  his  defeat.  He  could  not  have  lost  his 
iy  ;  nor  could  he  have  mistaken  the  hour.     A  general  anxiety, 

length,  began  to  prevail  on  the  subject.  Meriwether  was 
^rticularly  desirous  to  meet  his  neighbor  at  this  moment  of 
Lcification ;  and  the  rest  of  the  party  were  curious  to  note  the 
i  gentleman's  behavior  at  so  critical  a  juncture. 

The  dinner  hour  had  now  come,  and  every  one  was  still  on  the 
Dkout  for  our  ancient  guest.  Most  of  the  gentlemen  were  con- 
egated  about  the  door,  watching  every  object  that  came  in  sight 
ton  the  road  leading  to  the  gateway.  At  last,  slowly  emerging 
Dm  behind  a  clump  of  trees,  at  some  distance  off,  where  the  road 
^ist  occurred  to  view,  was  seen  the  venerable  veteran  himself 
e  had  dismounted  from  his  horse,  and,  unattended  by  any  ser- 
nt,  was  walking  leisurely  with  his  arms  behind  his  back,  the 
jidle  dangling  from  one  hand,  and  his  horse  dodging  along  after 
14* 


322  A     COUNTRY     GATHERING. 

him,  as  slow  as  foot  could  fall.     Both  the  steed  and  the  ride? 
looked  patiently  and  pensively  upon  the  ground.     A  long  intervii 
elapsed  before  they  reached  the  gate.     The  worthy  gentlemayj 
all  unconscious  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  or  of  his  proximitj 
to  his  point  of  destination,  and  the  impatient  crowd  that  wei ' 
gazing  at  him,  advanced  in  deep  thought.     The  exterminate 
lawsuit  disturbed  him.     He  thought  sorrowfully  over  the  exti 
guished  controversy.      A  favorite  fancy  had  been  annihilate 
untimely  cropped,  as  a  flower  of  the  field.     He  could  not  reali: 
the  idea.     The  privation  had  left  him  no  substitute.     All  thi 
was  plainly  read  in  his  movements.     He  travelled  forward  a  fe 
paces,  then  stopped,  raised  his  head,  by  a  careful,  circuitous  m 
tion  of  his  hand,  took  his  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket,  paust 
and  adjusted  it  in  his  grasp,  then,  stooping  forward,  applied  it 
his  nose,  and  returned  it,  with  the  same  deliberation,  to  its  pla 
of  deposit.     This  operation  was  several  times  repeated,  and  £ 
companied  with  looks  of  bewildered  abstraction.     Poor  gent! 
man  !     He  had  parted  with  a  friend  when  he  gave  up  his  su 
He  arrived,  at  length,  at  the  gate,  where  he  was  met  by  Meri\^ 
ther,  and  almost  by  the  whole  company.     It  was  a  surprise  to  Li 
to  find  himself  so  near ;  and,  immediately  dismissing  the  medi" 
tive  air  which  had  rendered  his  march  so  tardy  and  perplexed, 
put  on  his  accustomed  demeanor  of  studied  and  sprightly  ci 
lity,  and  replied  to  the  numerous  greetings  with  an  alacrity  tl 
astonished  every  one. 

"  I  fear  I  have  kept  you  waiting,  my  friend,"  said  he  to  Mc 
wether  ;  "  that,  you  know,  is  not  my  way  ;  but,  body-o'-me  !  I  h 
like  to  have  made  a  slip  ;  my  timepiece  is  to  blame.     Wc  old  i 
lows,"  he  continued,  looking  at  his  watch,  "  havn't  so  much  of  t> 
commodity  to  lose  either,  Mr.  Meriwether,  ha,  ha  !     Time  d«"' 
not  spare  such  an  old  curmudgeon  as  I :  he  has  handled  me  pre^ 
well  already." 


A     COUNTRY     GATHERING.  323 

"Papa,  what  made  you  stay  so  long?"  asked  Bel.  "  We  have 
'.  (en  waiting  for  you  until  I  began  to  be  alarmed  lest  something 
■    id  happened  to  you." 

"  My  dear,"  replied  the  father,  "  I  thought  I  would  just  ride 
'  jjand  by  the  Apple-pie  to  take  a  look  at  the  grounds ;  and  I 
:   lllieve  I  staid  there  rather  too  long." 

5    i  "  And  what  had  you  to  look  at  there,  all  by  yourself,  I  should 
:  l:etoknow?" 

"  Nothing,  my  dear,  but  we  must  not  talk  of  the  Apple-pie, — 
^  it  a  word  !  That  subject  is  to  be  buried  for  ever.  It  is  done, 
.    lissure  you,  my  dear,  it  is  done." 

With  these  words,  the  old  gentleman  entered  the  hall  and 
ingled  with  the  crowd. 


CHAPTER  mill. 


THE     DINNER     TABLE, 


About  half  after  three,  Carey,  with  a  solemn  official  air  m  \ 
was  well  set  off  by  a  singularly  stiff  costurae, — assuming  for 
nonce  the  rank  and  station  of  head-waiter, — announced  that  ( - 
ner  was  on  the  table.  The  greater  part  of  the  company  was  ■ 
iected  in  the  drawing-room  ;  some  two  or  three  loitered  thro'i 
the  hall.  At  the  summons,  Mr.  Tracy,  with  that  alacrious  :- 
tion  which  sometimes  belongs  to  old  men,  sprang  upon  his :  t 
and  hastened  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  where  my  coi-u 
Lucretia  was  seated,  took  her  hand,  and,  with  a  repetition  of  - 
mal  bows  after  a  fashion  in  vogue  in  the  last  century,  led  he!o 
the  dining-room.  Meriwether  stood  at  the  door  beckoning  to  < 
after  another  of  his  guests,  with  that  kind  smile  and  unstudtl 
grace  which  are  natural  to  a  benevolent  temper ;  his  tall  fi^  '^' 
somewhat  constrained  in  its  motion  by  an  infusion  of  mod(), 
which  is  always  discernible  in  him  when  placed  in  any  consj  i- 
ous  position.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Tracy  led  the  way,  Swansddi, 
with  some  particularity,  offered  his  arm  to  Bel.  The  other  laCs 
found  an  escort  among  the  more  gallant  of  the  gentlemen ;  i^l 
after  them  the  rest  of  the  party  pressed  forward  pell-mell  tow  l^^ 
the  dining-room,  leaving  Meriwether  to  bring  up  the  rear, '  }^- 
upon  arriving  at  the  table,  with  that  considerateness  which  n  cr 


THE     DINNER     TADLE.  325 

jrsakes  him  in  the   smallest  matters,  placed  Mr.   Wart,  Mr 
)hub,  and  one  or  two  of  his  elder  guests  near  his  own  seat. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention,  that  before  we  had  taken  our 
(hairs,  Mistress  "Winkle,  decked  out  in  all  the  pomp  of  silk  and 
liusliu,  sailed,  as  it  were,  with  muffled  oars  into  the  room  from  a 
[ide  door  ;  and,  with  a  prim  and  stealthy  motion,  deposited  her 
ime-worn  person  near  to  my  cousin  Lucretia.  It  is  a  custom  of 
fifectionate  courtesy  in  the  family,  to  accord  to  this  venerable 
jlic  of  the  past  generation  the  civility  of  a  place  at  table.  Mr. 
'racy  was  aware  of  Meriwether's  feelings  towards  the  aged  dame ; 
ad,  prompted  by  his  overflowing  zeal  on  the  present  occasion  to 
lanifest  his  deference  to  his  host,  he  no  sooner  observed  her  thaii 
e  broke  out  into  a  jocose  and  gallant  recognition  : — 

"  Mistress  Winkle  !  what,  my  old  friend  !  It  rejoices  me  to 
e  you  looking  so  well — and  so  youthful !  The  world  goes  mer- 
ly  with  you.  Gad's-my  life  !  if  Colonel  Tarleton  were  only 
ive  again  to  make  another  visit  to  the  James  River,  it  would 
e  hard  to  persuade  him  that  time  had  gained  so  small  a  victory 
ver  the  romping  girl  whom  he  had  the  impertinence  to  chuckle 
der  the  chin  so  boldly.  A  saucy  and  stark  trooper  he  was  in 
ose  days,  Mistress  Winkle  !  But  the  gout,  the  gout,  I  warrant, 
id  his  business  for  him  long  ago  !  Ha,  ha  !  You  hav'nt  forgot 
d'times,  Mistress  Winkle,  although  they  have  well  nigh  forgot- 
jn  you." 

The  housekeeper,  during  this  outbreak,  courtesied,  hemmed 
pd  smiled ;  and,  with  much  confusion,  rustled  her  silken  folds 
ji  her  chair,  with  somewhat  of  the  motion  of  a  motherly  hen  in 
'le  process  of  incubation.  Mr.  Tracy  had  touched  upon  an  ind- 
ent which,  for  nearly  half  a  century,  had  been  a  theme  that 
armed  up  all  her  self-complacency,  and  which-  owed  its  origin  to 
Qe  of  the  English  partisan's  forays  upon  the  river  side,  during 
le  Revolution,  in  which  be  was  said  to  have  made  himself  very 


826  THE     DINNER     TABLE. 

i 

much  at  home  at  Swallow  Barn,  and  to  have  bestowed  some  cc .. 
plimental  notice  upon  the  then  buxom  and  blooming  dependji 
of  the  family. 

The  table  was  furnished  with  a  profusion  of  the  delicac  i 
afforded  by  the  country  ;  and,  notwithstanding  it  was  much  m(  i 
ample  than  the  accommodation  of  the  guests  required,  it  seeir'. 
to  be  stored  rather  with  a  reference  to  its  own  dimensions  tl . 
to  the  number  or  wants  of  those  who  were  collected  around  . 
At  the  head,  immediately  under  the  eye  of  our  hostess,  in '■! 
customary  pride  of  place,  was  deposited  a  goodly  ham  of  bac  , 
rich  in  its  own  perfections,  as  well  as  in  the  endemic  honors  ti ; 
belong  to  it  in  the  Old  Dominion.  According  to  a  usage  worl- 
of  imitation,  it  was  clothed  in  its  own  dark  skin,  which  the  :  • 
aginative  mistress  of  the  kitchen  had  embellished  by  carving  • 
to  some  fanciful  figures.  The  opposite  end  of  the  table  smol . 
with  a  huge  roasted  saddle  of  mutton,  which  seemed,  from  > 
trim  and  spruce  air,  ready  to  gallop  off  the  dish.  ^  Between  th '; 
two  extremes  was  scattered  an  enticing  diversity  of  poultry,  p  • 
pared  with  many  savory  adjuncts,  and  especially  that  topical  1  :• 
ury,  which  yet  so  slowly  finds  its  way  northward, — fried  chi  • 
ens, — sworn  brother  to  the  ham,  and  old  Virginia's  standard  di 
The  intervening  spaces  displayed  a  profusion  of  the  products '. 
the  garden  ;  nor  were  oysters  and  crabs  wanting  where  ro  i 
allowed  ;  and,  where  nothing  else  could  be  deposited,  as  if  so  • 
pulous  of  showing  a  bare  spot  of  the  table-cloth,  the  bounti  1 
forethought  of  Mistress  Winkle  had  provided  a  choice  select  i 
of  pickles  of  every  color  and  kind.  From  the  whole  array  of  ' 
board  it  was  obvious,  that  abundance  and  variety  were  deemed  > 
less  essential  to  the  entertainment,  than  the  excellence  of  ' 
viands. 

A  bevy  of  domestics,  in  every  stage  of  training,  attended   • 
on  the  table,  presenting  a  lively  type  of  the  progress  of  civil)  ■ 


THE     DINNER    TADLE.  327 

)n,  or  the  march  of  intellect ;  the  veteran  waitingman  being 
ill-contrasted  with  the  rude  half-monkey,  half-boy,  who  seemed 
have  been  for  the  first  time  admitted  to  the  parlor ;  whilst,  be- 
een  these  two,  were  exhibited  the  successive  degrees  that  mark 
ii  ie  advance  from  the  young  savage  to  the  sedate  and  sophisti- 
a  ited  image  of  the  old-fashioned  negro  nobility.  It  was  equal  to 
:S  igallery  of  caricatures,  a  sort  of  scenic  satire  upon  man  in  his 
:2  ^rious  stages,  with  his  odd  imitativeness  illustrated  in  the  broad- 
;,^  (t  lines.  Each  had  added  some  article  of  coxcombry  to  his 
;i  (ess;  a  pewter  buckle  fastened  to  the  shirt  for  a  breast-pin  ;  a 
::•  ^^SJ  parti-colored  ribbon,  ostentatiously  displayed  across  the 
■.J  least,  with  one  end  lodged  in  the  waistcoat  pocket ;  or  a  prcpos- 
•  i>  i'ous  cravat  girding  up  an  exorbitantly  starched  shirt  collar, 
yr  tit  rivalled  the  driven  snow,  as  it  traversed  cheeks  as  black  as 
,;3  idnight,  and  fretted  the  lower  cartilage  of  a  pair  of  refractory, 
M  iren-hued  ears.  One,  more  conceited  than  the  rest,  had  platted 
.,  1;  wool  (after  a  fashion  common  amongst  the  negroes)  into  five 
!r  ( six  short  cues  both  before  and  behind  ;  whilst  the  visages  of 
J  tj  whole  group  wore  that  grave,  momentous  elongation  which 
peculiar  to  the  African  face,  and  which  is  eminently  adapted 
t  express  the  oiEcial  care  and  personal  importance  of  the  wearer. 
As  the  more  immediate,  and  what  is  universally  conceded  to 
the  more  important,  business  of  the  dinner  was  discussed,  to 
^b,  the  process  of  dulling  the  edge  of  appetite,  the  merriment  of 
tp  company  rose  in  proportion  to  the  leisure  afi"orded  to  its  ex- 
cpse ;  and  the  elder  portion  of  the  guests  gently  slid  into  the 
Vacity  of  the  younger.  Mr.  Tracy  did  not  lose  for  an  instant 
tjit  antiquated  cavalier  air  which  he  had  assumed  on  entering 
tj)  room.  As  Harvey  Riggs  expressed  it,  "he  was  painfully  po- 
h  and  very  precisely  gay."  The  ladies,  for  a  time,  gave  their 
tie  to  the  table  ;  and,  under  this  influence,  we  found  ourselves 
fling  into  detached  circles,  where  each  pursued  its  separate 


328  THE     DINNER     TABLE. 

theme,  sometimes  in  loud  and  rapid  converse,  mingled  with  iC. 
quent  bursts  of  laughter  that  spread  an  uudistinguishable  |in 
through  the  room  ;  and  sometimes  in  low  and  confidential  i  ij. 
murings,  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  say  whether  they  ire 
grave  or  gay.  Swansdown's  voice  was  poured  into  Bel's  ecjiii 
gentle  and  unremitting  whispers,  of  which  Ned  Hazard  alonjof 
all  the  guests — to  judge  by  his  intense  and  abstracted  gaze— sa 
able  to  unriddle  the  imjDort.  Prudence,  equally  abstracted,  jOS 
unnaturally  merry,  and  laughed  much  more  than  was  neces'ry 
at  Harvey's  jokes.  Catharine  talked  with  singular  sagacity,  jid 
listened,  with  still  more  singular  earnestness,  to  Mr.  Beve  y. 
who  was  instructing  her,  with  equal  interest  and  eloquence,  ipn 
the  wholesome  effects  he  had  found  in  the  abundant  useof  fla.el 
— which  he  described  with  unnecessary  amplitude  of  details  tin 
repelling  the  assaults  of  an  ancient  enemy,  the  rheumatism.  ;)w 
and  then  a  loud  and  rather  obstreperous  laugh,  not  altog(,er 
suited  to  the  region  he  inhabited,  and  which  some  such  conscis- 
ness  seemed  abruptly  to  arrest,  was  set  up  by  Taliaferro  He' . 
This  worthy  had  already  begun  to  occupy  that  questionable  grind 
which  a  gentleman  of  loose  habits  and  decaying  reputatic;  ifl 
pretty  sure  to  arrive  at  in  his  descending  career.  Bissip  jOn 
had  lowered  him  somewhat  in  the  world,  and  had  already  i  re- 
duced him  to  a  class  of  associates  who  had  made  a  visible  im.es- 
sion  on  his  manners,  a  circumstance  which  very  few  men  ha  so 
little  shrewdness  as  not  to  perceive,  nor  so  much  hardihood  a  lot 
to  be  ashamed  of.  In  truth.  Toll  had  imbibed  some  of  the  £  Qg, 
and  much  of  the  boisterousness  of  the  bar-room  ;  but  he  ha  pot 
yet  given  such  unequivocal  indications  of  the  incurableness  >'h^ 
infirmity,  as  to  induce  his  acquaintances  (who  for  the  mostjart 
upheld  him  on  some  family  consideration)  to  exclude  him  jom 
their  houses.  On  the  contrary,  a  certain  strain  of  disorder)  uul 
generous  companionship,  breaking  out  and  shining  above  the>cci) 


THE     DINNER     TABLE.  329 

thich  it  was  akin,  still  recommended  him  to  the  favor  of  those 
were  unwilling  to  desert  him  as  long  as  his  case  was  not 
'  a  olutely  hopeless.     The  course  of  intemperance,  however,  gravi- 
ties  by  a  fatal  law  downwards :  it  is  unfortunately  of  the  most 

■  rle  occurrence,  that  the  mind  which  has  once  been  debauched  by 
'  aiabit  of  intoxication,  ever  regains  that  poise  of  self-respect  which 
~  n''serves  the  purity  of  the  individual.     It  was  easy  to  perceive 

tit  Hedges  labored  under  a  perpetual  struggle  to  constrain  his 

d>ortment  within  even  the  broader  boundaries  that  limit  the 

ii  ulgence  of  the  class  of  gentlemen. 

"     Amidst  these  diversified  exhibitions,  Mr.  Wart  ate  like  a  man 

\Jh  a  good  appetite,  and  gave  himself  no  trouble  to  talk,  except 

iiphe  intervals  of  serving  his  plate  ;  for  he  remarked,  "  that  he 

'"  w  not  accustomed  to  these  late  hours,  and  thought  them  apt  to 

"  irke  one  surcharge  his  stomach  ;"  whilst  the  parson,  who  sat 

"  ovosite  to  him,  wore  a  perpetual  smile  during  the  repast ;  some- 

■  ti  es  looking  as  if  he  intended  to  say  something,  but  more  gen- 

■  e:lly  watching  every  word  that  fell  from  Mr.  Wart's  lips. 

The  courses  disappeared  ;  a  rich  dessert  came  and  went :  the 
•'  sjjrits  of  the  company  rose  still  higher.     The  wine,  iced  almost 

■  t<;he  freezing  point,  moved  in  a  busy  sphere  ;  for  the  intense 
t  of  the  weather  gave  it  an  additional  zest.     We  had  made 

til  usual  libations  to  the  ladies,  and  exchanged  the  frequent 
Iths,  according  to  the  hackneyed  and  unmeaning  custom  which 
vails  unquestioned,  I  suppose,  over  Christendom,  when  the 
ejeh  arrived  at  which,  by  the  arbitrary  law  of  the  feast,  the 
wpankind  are  expected  to  withdraw  ;  that  time  which,  if  I  were 
abvereign  in  this  dinner-party  realm,  should  be  blotted  from  the 
ive  calendar.  I  should  shame  me  to  acknowledge  that  there 
'  any  moment  in  the  social  day  when  it  was  unseemly  for  the 
tdperate  sex  to  look  upon  or  listen  to  the  lord  of  creation  in 
W  pastimes  ;  but  I  was  neither  monarch  nor  magician,  and  so  we 


230  THE     DINNER     TABLE. 

i 

were  left  alone  to  pursue  unreproved  the  frolic  current  upon -w  ah 
we  had  been  lifted.     Before  us  glittered  the  dark  sea  of  the  t  le, 
studded  over  with  "  carracks,"  "  argosies,"  and  '•  barks''  freig  ed  | 
with  the  wealth  of  the  Azores,  Spain,  Portugal  and  France ;  ad  i 
with  the  lighters  by  which  these  precious  bulks  were  unladen  id  i 
deposited  in  their  proper  receptacles.     In  sooth,  the  wine 'as 
very  good. 

Almost  the  first  words  that  were  spoken,  after  we  had  :  .d- 
lusted  ourselves  from  the  stir  occasioned  by  the  retreat  oJhe 
ladies,  came  from  Mr.  Tracy.  He  had  been  waiting  for  a  sul  )le 
opportunity  to  acqjiit  himself  of  a  grave  and  formal  duty,  he 
occasion  of  the  dinner,  he  conceived,  demanded  of  him  a  pec  ar 
compliment  to  the  host.  His  strict  and  refined  sensitivene  to 
the  requirements  of  gentle  breeding  would  have  forbidden  lii ;  to 
sleep  quietly  in  his  bed  with  this  task  unperformed  ;  and  t  ire- 
fore,  with  a  tremulous  and  fluttered  motion,  like  that  of  a  y  ng 
orator  awe-struck  at  the  thought  of  making  a  speech,  he  re -to  ^ 
command  the  attention  of  the  table.  A  faint-hearted  snail  ^t 
rigidly  upon  his  visage,  "  like  moonlight  on  a  marble  statu  ■— 
his  eye  glassy,  his  cheek  pale,  and  his  gesture  contrived  to  a  int 
and  feeble  counterfeit  of  mirth.  It  was  evident  the  old  gentl  an 
was  not  accustomed  to  public  speaking :  and  so  he  remarb  as 
he  turned  towards  Meriwether,  and  continued  an  address  me- 
what  in  the  following  terms  : — 

"  Since  we  have,  my  dear  sir,  so  fortunately  succeeded  ii  ut- 
ting  an  end  to  a  vexatious  question, — which,  although  i  iias 
resulted  in  throwing  upon  my  hands  a  few  barren  and  unprof  ble 
acres,  has  given  all  the  glory  of  the  settlement  to  you  ;—  ^r^' 
his  voice  quavered  considerably,)  for  it  was  indubitably,  my^n 
worthy  and  excellent  friend,  at  your  instance  and  suggestior  liat 
we  struck  out  the  happy  thought  of  leaving  it  to  the  arbitn  out 
of  our  kind    friends  : — and  to  tell  the  truth,  (at  this  poii  <'"' 


THE     DINNER     TABLE.  331 

)ld  gentleman  brightened  up  a  little  and  looked  jocular,  although 

le  still  had  the  quaver.)  I  don't  know  but  I  would  as  lief  have  the 

awsuit  as  the  land, — seeing  that  it  has  been  the  occasion  of  many 

jnerry  meetings  : — I  will  take  upon  myself  to  propose  to  this  good 

tiompany  of  neighbors  and  friends,  that  we  shall  drink, — ha  ha  ! 

[continued  the  veteran,  waving  his  hand  above  his  head,  and 

inclining  towards  the  table  with  a  gay  gesticulation.)  that  we  shall 

rink,  gentlemen,  a  bumper ;  (here  he  took  the  decanter  in  his 

and,  and  filled  his  glass.)     '•  Fill  your  glasses  all  around, — no 

inching !" 

"  Fill  up  !  fill  up  !"  cried  every  one,  anxious  to  help  the  old 
entleman  out  of  his  difficulties,  "  Mr.  Tracy's  toast  in  a  bum- 
^er !" 

'•  Here,"  continued  Mr.  Tracy,  holding  his  glass  on  high  with 
trembling  hand,  "  here  is  to  our  admirable  host,  Mister  Francis 
jleriwether  of  Swallow  Barn  ! — a  sensible  and  enlightened  gentle- 
lan, — a  considerate  landlord, — a  kind  neighbor,  an  independent, 
pright,  sensible, — enlightened — (here  he  became  sadly  puzzled 
3r  a  word,  and  paused  for  a  full  half  minute,)  reasonable  defender 

fright  and  justice  ;  a  man  that  is  not  headstrong  (his  perplexity 
ill  increasing)  on  the  score  of  landmarks,  or  indeed  on  any  score  ! 
-I  say,  gentlemen,  here's  wishing  him  success  in  all  his  aims, 
od  long  life  to  enjoy  a  great  many  such  joyous  meetings  as  the 
resent;  besides — " 

I  "  Health  of  our  host,  and  many  such  meetings  !"  exclaimed 
Ir.  Wart,  interrupting  the  speaker,  and  thus  cutting  short  a 
)ast  of  which  it  was  evident  Mr.  Tracy  could  not  find  the  end. 

"  Health  to  our  host, — ^joyous  meetings  !"  cried  out  half  a 
ozen  voices. 

And  thus  relieved  from  his  floundering  progress,  the  old  gen- 
eman  took  his  seat  in  great  glee,  remarking  to  the  person  next 
)  him,  "  that  he   was   not  much   practised  in    making   dinner 


332  THE     DINNER     TABLE. 


speeches,  but  that  he  could  get  through  very  well  when  he  waj 
once  pushed  to  it."  j 

Meriwether  sat  out  this  adulatory  and  unexpected  assault  wit!-: 
painful  emotions,  sinking  under  the  weight  of  his  natural  diffidenc( 
The  rest  of  the  company  awaited  in  silence  the  slow,  drawling 
and  distinct  elocution  of  the  speaker,  with  an  amused  and  lud ! 
crous  suspense,  until  Mr.  Wart's  interruption,  which  was  thi 
signal  for  a  shout  of  approbation;  and  in  the  uproar  that  eil 
sued,  the  wine  was  quaffed ;  while  Mr.  Tracy  chuckled  at  ih  i 
eminent  success  of  his  essay,  and  Meriwether  stood  bowing  an; 
blushing  with  the  bashfulness  of  a  girl.  j 

When  the  clamor  subsided,  Philly  Wart  remarked  in  a  quii  • 
tone, — 

"  I  think  our  friend  Meriwether  will  scarcely  escape  a  speec 
in  reply  to  this  compliment.  The  fashion  is  to  return  the  broa< 
side  whenever  it  is  given." 

"  I  pray  you,"  said  Meriwether,  with  an  emotion  amountii 
almost  to  alarm,  "  do  not  ask  me  to  say  any  thing.  I  have  i 
insuperable  aversion  to  such  efforts:  my  nerves  will  not  stand  ; 
Mr.  Tracy  knows  how  kindly  I  take  the  expression  of  his  i 
gard." 

Harvey  Riggs,  who  observed  Meriwether's  real  embarra^ 
ment,  rose  to  divert  the  attention  of  the  company  to  anoth. 
quarter;  and  putting  on  an  air  of  great  solemnity,  observed  tb 
he  was  unwilling  to  lose  so  favorable  an  opportunity  of  payio^ 
tribute  to  two  very  worthy,  and  on  the  present  occasion  he  migi 
say,  conspicuous  persons;  "I  mean,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "^' 
Philpot  Wart  and  Mr.  Singleton  Oglethorpe  Swansdown.  I 
plenish,  gentlemen  !  Here's  to  the  health  of  the  pacificators !  t : 
men  whose  judgments  could  not  be  led  astray  by  the  decisions  I 
courts,  and  whose  energies  could  not  be  subdued  by  the  forini<j 
ble  difficulties  of  the  Apple-pie  !" 


Ki 


THE     DINNER     TADLE.  333 

*tBravo  !"  rang  from  every  mouth. 

"  A  speech  from  Mr.  Swansdown  !"  exclaimed  Ned  Hazard. 

•'  A  speech  from  Mr.  Swansdown  !"  echoed  from  all  quarters. 

The  gentleman  called  on  rose  from  his  chair.  Harvey  Kigga 
ipped  upon  the  table  to  command  silence  ;  there  followed  a 
luse. 

1    "  I  do  not  rise  to  make  a  speech,"  said  Swansdown  with  great 
rmality  of  manner. 

"  Hear  him  !"  shouted  Harvey. 

"  I  do  not  rise,  gentlemen,"  said  the  other,  '•'  to  make  a  speech  ; 
it  custom,  in  these  innovating  times,  almost  imperatively  exacts 
lat  the  festive,  spontaneous  and  unmerited  encomiums  of  the 
jble, — that,  I  remark,  the  festive,  spontaneous  and  unmerited 
|comiums  of  the  table,  generated  in  the  heat  of  convivial  zeal, 
ilould  meet  their  response  in  the  same  hilarious  spirit  in  which 
^ey  find  their  origin.  Gentlemen  will  understand  me  ]  it  is  not 
k  purpose  to  rebuke  a  custom  which  may,  and  doubtless  does, 
(latribute  to  the  embellishment  of  the  social  relations.  It  is 
iJBrely  my  purpose,  on  the  present  occasion,  as  an  humble,  and, 
ijl  know  myself,  an  unpretending  individual,  to  respond  to  the 
Ifee  and  unbidden  expressions  of  the  good-will  of  this  company  to 
Itself,  and  my  distinguished  colleague,  with  whom  my  name  has 
len  associated.  In  his  name  therefore,  and  in  my  own,  I  desire 
t  acknowledge  the  deep  sense  we  entertain  of  the  compliment 
(|iveyed  in  the  toast  of  our  worthy  fellow-guest.  (Philly  Wart 
Iked  and  smiled.)  It  will  be  amongst  the  proudest  topics  of  re- 
rimbrance  left  to  me,  gentlemen,  amidst  the  vicissitudes  of  a 
Cjingeful  life,  that  the  personal  sacrifices  I  have  made  and  the 
tjl  I  have  bestowed,  in  the  successful  endeavor  to  define  and 
e^ablish  the  complex  relations  and  rights  of  two  estimable  friends, 
lye  found  a  favorable  and  flattering  approval  in  the  good  sense 
ojthis  enlightened  company.     If  it  should  further  result,  that 


334  THE    DINNER    TABLE. 

I 

the  great  principles  developed,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  proii.- 
gated  in  this  endeavor,  should  hereafter  redound  to  the  advant;  j 
of  the  generation  amongst  which  I  have  the  honor  to  live,  I  n-  ] 
not  say  how  sincerely  I  shall  rejoice  that  neither  my  friend  :  r 
myself  have  lived  in  vain.  I  propose,  gentlemen,  in  return  - 
''  The  freeholders  of  the  Old  Dominion ;  the  prosperity  of  ? 
Commonwealth  reposes  securely  upon  their  intelligence  !" 

"  Amen  !"  said  Hazard  in  an  under  tone,  intended  only  r 
my  ear,  "  and  may  they  never  fail  to  do  honor  to  unp'etend  ) 
merit !" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Wart,  speaking  in  an  unusually  pla  I 
tone,  as  he  rose  with  a  face  reefed  into  half  its  ordinary  len  i 
with  smiles,  and,  at  the  same  time,  expressing  arch  waggery,  [ 
suppose  it  is  necessary  that  I  also  should  speak  to  this  po  .. 
There  are,  if  your  honor  pleases — Mr.  President — ordinarily  o 
different  motives  for  proposing  the  health  of  an  individual  atta  ;. 
The  one  is  a  bo?id  fide  purpose  to  exalt  and  honor  the  per  a 
proposed,  by  a  public  manifestation  of  the  common  feeling  tow  1 
him,  by  reason  of  some  certain  act  or  deed  by  him  perforn  I, 
entitling  him,  in  the  estimation  of  the  persons  proposing,  to  > 
plause.  In  this  point  of  view,  my  worthy  friend  who  has  ,  t 
spoken,  seems  to  have  considered  the  case  in  hand.  The  seed 
motive  for  the  act,  may  it  please  you, — Mr.  Meriwether, — may\ 
and  such  I  take  it,  a  certain  intent,  inter  alia,  to  promote  tJ 
encourage  cheerful  companionship.  With  whatever  gravity  e 
res  gesta  may  be  conducted,  I  hold  that  it  is  to  be  looked  u  n 
diverso  intuitu^  according  to  the  temper  and  condition  of  «' 
company  for  the  time  being. 

"  Now,  sir,  I  will  not  venture  to  say  that  my  learned  fri  tl 
lias  not  wisely  considered  the  toast  in  the  present  instance »s 
intended  and  made  in  all  gravity  of  purpose;  but,  seeing  ^^t 
this  company  did  certj^inly  manifest  some  levity  on  the  occasn. 


THE     DINNER     TABLE.  335 

[  choose,  sir,  to  stand  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  question,  as  the 
iiafest,  in  the  present  emergency.  Vcrc  sajnt^  sir,  qui  alicno  per- 
\culo  sapit :  I,  therefore,  sir,  go  for  the  joke.  I  have  sometimes 
jeen  an  old  hound  tongue  upon  a  false  scent ;  but  then  there  is 
(ttusic  made,  and,  I  believe,  that  is  pretty  much  all  that  is  wanting 
iin  the  present  occasion. 

"  When  a  man  is  praised  to  his  face,  gentlemen  of  the  jury," 
i,e  continued,  rising  into  an  energetic  key,  and  mistaking  the 
ribunal  he  was  addressing, — "  I  beg  pardon,  gentlemen,  you  see 
he  ermine  and  the  woolsack  will  stick  to  my  tongue :  Oinnihiis 
joc  intium  cantoribus^  as  an  ancient  author  (I  forget  his  name) 
ery  appropriately  remarks.  What  is  bred  in  the  bone, — you 
:now  the  proverb.  But  when  a  man  is  praised  to  his  face," — 
ere  the  speaker  stretched  out  his  arm,  and  stood  silent  for  a 
loment,  as  if  endeavoring  to  recollect  what  he  intended  to  say, — 
3r  he  had  lost  the  thread  of  his  speech, — and  during  this  pause 
is  countenance  grew  so  irresistibly  comic  that  the  whole  compa- 
y,  who  had  from  the  first  been  collecting  a  storm  of  laughter, 

ow  broke  out  with  concentrated  violence. 

i 

I  "  Poh,  Ned  Hazard  !  you  put  every  thing  I  had  to  say  out  of 
liy  head  with  that  horse  laugh,"  continued  the  orator,  looking  at 
I^ed,  who  had  thrown  himself  back  in  his  chair,  giving  full  vent 
0  his  merriment. 

Philly  patiently  awaited  the  blowing  over  of  this  whirlwind, 
l^ith  an  increased  drollery  of  look ;  and  then,  as  it  subsided,  he 
ade  a  bow  with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  saying,  in  an  emphatic 
ay,  "your  healths,  gentlemen !"  swallowed  his  wine,  and  took 
'is  seat,  amidst  renewed  peals  of  mirth.  At  the  same  moment, 
rom  the  depths  of  this  tumult,  was  distinctly  heard  the  voice  of 
Ir.  Chub,  who  cried  out,  with  his  eyes  brimful  of  tears,  and  a 
lalf  suffocated  voice, — "  A  prodigious  queer  man,  that  Mister 
i'hilly  Wart !" 


t 


336  THE     DINNER     TABLE. 

Segars  were  now  introduced,  the  decanters  were  tilled  for  th<^ 
second  time,  and  the  flush  of  social  enjoyment  reddened  into  ; 
deeper  hue.     Some  one  or  two  additional  guests  had  just  arrived 
and  taken  their  seats  at  the  table,  a  full  octave  lower  in  tone  thai 
their  excited  comrades  of  the  board  :  it  was  like  the  mingling  o 
a  few  flats  too  many  in  a  lively  overture  ;  but  the  custom  of  ih' 
soil  sanctions  and  invites  these  irregularities,  and  it  was  notlonr 
before  this  rear-guard  hastened  on  to  the  van.     The  scene  pre 
sented  a  fine  picture  of  careless,  unmethodized  and  unenthrallei 
hospitality,  where  the  guests  enjoyed  themselves  according  t 
their  varying  impulses,  whether  in  grave  argumentation  or  tof 
pling  merriment.     Now  and  then,  a  song, — none  of  the  best  i 
execution, — was  sung,  and  after  that  a  boisterous  catch  was  trollec 
with  some  decisive  thumpings  on  the  table,  by  way  of  markin 
time,  in  which  it  might  be  perceived  that  even  old  Mr.  Tracy  wa 
infected  with  the  prevailing  glee,  for  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  hi 
head  shook  to  the  music,  and  his  fist  was  brandished  with  a  dowr 
ward  swing,  almost  in  the  style  of  a  professed  royster.     In  th 
intervals  of  the  singing  a  story  was  told.     Sometimes  the  convo 
sation  almost  sank  into  a  murmur ;  sometimes  it  mounted  to 
gale,  its  billow  rolling  in  with  a  deep-toned,  heavy,  swelling  roa 
until  it  was  spent  in  a  general  explosion.     Not  unfrequently, 
collapse  of  the  din  surprised  some  single  speaker  in  the  high  roa 
of  his  narrative,  and  thus  detected  him  recounting,  in  an  uppe 
key,  some  incident  which  he  had  perhaps  addressed  to  one  audito 
and  which,  not  a  little  to  his  disconcertment,  he  found  himse 
compelled  to  communicate  to  the  whole  circle.     It  was  in  sue 
an  interval  as  this,  that  Hedges  was  left  struggling  through  tl 
following  colloquy  with  Ralph  Tracy  : — 

"  I  made  a  narrow  escape." 

"  How  was  that  ?"  asked  Ralph. 

"  Oh,  a.  very  serious  accident,  I  assure  you  !     I  came  with; 


THE     DINNER     TABLE.  •  337 

in  acc  of  getting  yoked  that  triji ;  married,  sir,  by  all  that's 
ovely  !" 

"  No  !"  exclaimed  Ralph,  "  you  didn't,  sure  enough,  Toll  ?" 

'•  If  I  didn't,"  replied   Toll,  "  I  wish  I  may  be (here  ho 

lipped  out  around, full  and  expressive  malediction.)  I'll  tell  you 
ow  it  was.  At  the  Sweet  Springs  I  got  acquainted  with  a  pre- 
!»osterously  rich  old  sugar  planter  from  Louisiana.  He  had  his 
,ife  and  daughter  with  him,  and  a  whole  squad  of  servants, 
i'orty  thousand  dollars  a  year !  and  the  daughter  as  frenchified 
s  a  sunflower :  not  so  particularly  young  neither,  but  looking  as 
[inocent  as  if  she  wa'nt  worth  one  copper.  I  went  in  for  grace, 
nd  began  to  show  out  a  few  of  my  ineffable  pulchritudes, — and 
rhat  do  you  think  ? — she  was  most  horribly  struck.  I  put  her 
ttto  an  ecstasy  with  one  of  my  pigeon-wings.  She  wanted  to  find 
ut  my  name." 

"  Well,  and  what  came  of  it  ?" 

'•  Thar  were  only  three  things,"  said  Toll,  -  in  the  way.  If 
:  had  not  been  for  them,  I  should  have  been  planting  sugar  this 
ay.  First,  the  old  one  didn't  take  to  it  very  kindly  ;  and  then, 
be  mother  began  to  rear  a  little  at  me  too  :  but  I  shouldn't  have 
onsidered  that  of  much  account,  only  the  daughter  herself  seemed 
8  much  as  to  insinuate  that  the  thing  wouldn't  do." 

"  Did  you  carry  it  so  far  as  to  put  the  question  to  her  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  so  far  as  that.  No,  no,  I  was  not  such  a  fool 
s  to  come  to  the  ore  tenus ;  I  went  on  the  non-committal  princi- 
le.  She  as  much  as  signified  to  a  friend  of  mine,  that  she  didn't 
ish  to  make  my  acquaintance :  and  so,  I  took  the  hint  and  was 
ff: — wa'nt  that  close  grazing,  Ralpb  ?" 

This   concluding   interrogatory  was  followed  up  by  one  of 

j'oll's  loud  cachinations,  that  might  have  been  heard  a  hundred 

iaces  from  the  house,  and  which  was,  as   usual,  chopped  short 

jy  his  perceiving  that  it  did  not  take  effect  so  decidedly  as  he 

15 


338  THE     DINNER     TABLE, 

expected  upon  the  company.     Upon  this,  Hedges  became  rati 
silent  for  the  next  half  hour. 

The  dining-room  had  for  some  time  past  been  gradually  assu 
ing  that  soft,  mellow,  foggy  tint  which  is  said  by  the  painters 
spread  such  a  charm  over  an  Indian-summer  landscape.     T 
volumes  of  smoke  rolled  majestically  across  the  table,  and  th' 
rose  into  the  upper  air,  where  they  spread  themselves  out  int( 
rich,  dun  mass,  and  flung  a  certain  hazy  witchery  over  the  see: ; 
The  busy  riot  of  revelry  seemed  to  echo  through  another  Cimr 
rium,  and  the  figures  of  the  guests  were  clad  in  even  a  spect 
obscurity.     Motionless,  exact  and  sombre  as  an  Egyptian  obeli 
old  Carey's  form  was  dimly  seen  relieved  against  the  light  o; , 
window,  near  one  end  of  the  table ;  all  the  other  domestics  I 
fled,  and  the  veteran  body-guard  alone  remained  on  duty.     1 
wine  went  round  with  the  regularity  of  a  city  milk-cart,  stopp;:; 
at  every  door.     A  mine  of  wit  was  continually  pouring  out  ; 
recondite  treasures  :  the  guests  were  every  moment  growing  1 ; 
fastidious  ;  and  the  banquet  had  already  reached  that  stage  wl  i 
second-rate  wit  is  as  good  as  the  best,  if  not  better.     The  g(i 
humor  of  our  friend  Wart  had  attracted  the  waggery  of  Ri|! 
and  Hazard,  and  they  were  artfully  soliciting  and  provoking  1 1 
to  a  more  conspicuous  part  in  the  farce  of  the  evening.     L ) 
Munchausen's  frozen  horn,  the  counsellor  was  rapidly  melt  ^ 
into  a  noisy  temperature.     He  had  volunteered  some  two  or  th  ) 
stories,  of  which  he  seemed,  somehow  or  other,  to  have  lost    ' 
pith.     In  short,  it  was  supposed,  from  some  droll  expressior  f 
the  eye,  and  a  slight  faltering  of  the  tongue,  that  Mr.  "Wart  ^  ^ 
growing  gay. 

Harvey  Riggs,  when  matters  were  precisely  in  this  conditi , 
contrived,  by  signs  and  secret  messages,  to  concentrate  the  att  - 
tion  of  the  company  upoL  the  old  lawyer,  just  as  he  was  sett  '^ 
out  with  the  history  of  a  famous  campaign. 


THE     DINNER     TABLE.  339 

"  You  all  remember  the  late  war."  said  Pliilly,  looking  around, 
and  finding  the  eyes  of  every  one  upon  him. 

This  announcement  was  followed  by  a  laugh  of  applause, 
indicating  the  interest  that  all  took  in  the  commencement  of  the 
oarrative. 

"  There  is  certainly  nothing  particularly  calculated  to  excite 
^our  risible  faculties  in  that !"  said  he,  as  much  amused  as  his 
^uditory. — "  I  was  honored  by  his  Excellency  the  Governor  of 
Virginia  with  a  commission  as  captain  of  a  troop  of  horse,  having 
jeen  previously  elected  to  that  station  by  a  unanimous  vote  at  a 
neeting  of  the  corps." 

'•  Explain  the  name  of  the  troop,"  said  Ned  Hazard. 

"  The  Invincible  Blues,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  the  uniform  be- 
ng  a  blue  bobtail,  and  the  corps  having  resolved  that  they  would 
lever  be  vanquished." 

"  I  am  told,"  interrupted  Harvey  Higgs,  "  that  you  furnished 
yourself  with  a  new  pair  of  yellow  buckskin  small-clothes  on  the 
)Ccasion  ;  and  that  with  them  and  your  blue  bobtail  you  produced 
I  sensation  through  the  whole  country." 

"  Faith !"  said  Mr.  Chub,  speaking  across  the  table,  '•  Mr. 
[liggs,  I  can  assure  you  I  don't  think  a  horseman  well  mounted 
;^ithout  leather  small-clothes." 

"  I  took  prodigious  pains,"  continued  Philly,  not  heeding  the 
nterruption,  '•  to  infuse  into  my  men  the  highest  military  disci- 
pline. There  wasn't  a  man  in  the  corps  that  couldn't  carry 
lis  nag  over  any  worm  fence  in  the  country. — throwing  off  the 
•ider— " 

"  The  rider  of  the  fence,  you  mean,"  said  Hazard,  dryly. 

"  To  be  sure  I  do  !"  replied  Philly,  with  briskness,  "  you  don't 
mppose  I  meant  to  say  that  my  men  were  ex  equis  dejecti — 
ixephippiated,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  coin  a  word  ?  No,  sir,  while 
he  horse  kept  his  legs,  every  man  was  like  a  horse-fly." 


340  THE     DINNER     TABLE.  j 

"What  system  of  discipline  did  you  introduce?"  inquire. 
Harvey. 

'•  The  system  of  foxhunting,"  answered  Mr.  Wart ;  "  the  ver 
best  that  ever  was  used  for  cavalry." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Harvey. 

"We  received  intelligence,  somewhere  m  the  summer  of  eiglj 
teen  hundred  and  thirteen,  that  old  Admiral  Warren  was  begir;! 
ning  to  squint  somewhat  awfully  at  Norfolk,  and  rather  takin 
liberties  in  Hampton  Roads.  Ratio7ie  cujus^  as  we  lawyers  saj 
it  was  thought  prudent  to  call  into  immediate  service  some  of  th 
most  efficient  of  the  military  force  of  the  country ;  and,  accord 
ingly,  up  came  an  order  addressed  to  me,  commanding  me  t 
repair  with  my  men,  as  speedily  as  possible,  to  the  neighborhoc 
of  Craney  Island.  This  summons  operated  like  an  electric  shoci 
It  was  the  first  real  flavor  of  gunpowder  that  the  troop  had  eve 
snuffed.  I  never  saw  men  behave  better.  It  became  my  dut; 
to  take  instant  measures  to  meet  the  emergency.  In  the  firs 
place,  I  ordered  a  meeting  of  the  troop  at  the  Court  House  ;— 
for  I  was  resolved  to  do  things  coolly." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Wart,"  said  Harvey,  "  in  the  orde 
of  your  movements  ;  the  first  thing  that  you  did  was  to  put  oj 
your  new  buckskin  breeches." 

'•  Fonsense  !"  said  the  counsellor  ;  "  I  called  the  meeting  a 
the  Court  House,  directing  every  man  to  be  there  in  full  equip 
ment." 

"  And  you  sent  forthwith  to  Richmond,"  interrupted  Hazarc 
"  for  a  white  plume  three  feet  long." 

'^  Now.  gentlemen  !*'  said  Philly,  imploringly,  '•  one  at  a  time 
if  you  wish  to  hear  me  out,  let  me  go  on.  Well,  sir,  the  men  mc 
in  complete  order.  Harry  Davenport,  (you  remember  him.  Mi 
Meriwether,  a  devil-may-care  sort  of  a  fellow,  a  perfect  walkin 
nuisance  in  time  of  peace,  an  indictable  offence  going  at  large 


I  Tin;    i)ii\Ni:j;    taui.  i:  ;j41 

10  was  my  ordcrlv;  and  the  very  best,  I  suppose,  in  Virginia.  I 
iirnishcd  Harry  (it  was  entirely  a  thought  of  my  own)  with  a 
lulbcrt,  the  shaft  twelve  feet  long,  and  pointed  with  a  foot  of 
[lolished  iron.  As  soon  as  I  put  this  into  his  hands,  the  fellow 
|;et  up  one  of  his  horse-laughs,  and  galloped  about  the  square  like 
I  wild  Cossack," 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Meriwether,  "  that  one  of  our  country- 
nen  would  scarcely  know  what  to  do  with  a  pole  twelve  feet  long, 
ifter  he  had  got  into  his  saddle  :  however,  I  take  it  for  granted 
^ou  had  good  reason  for  what  you  did." 

"  The  Polish  lancers,"  replied  Philly,  '•  produced  a  terrible 
impression  with  a  weapon  somewhat  similar." 

"  No  matter,"  said  Ned,  ••'  about  the  Polish  lancers  ;  let  us  get 
upon  our  campaign." 

'•  Yf  ell."  continued  Mr,  Wart,  - 1  thought  it  would  not  be 
imisSj  before  we  started,  to  animate  and  encourage  my  fellows 
nrith  a  speech.  So,  I  drew  them  up  in  a  hollow  square,  and  gave 
them  a  flourish  that  set  them  half  crazy." 

'•  That  was  just  the  way  with  Tyrtaeus  before  Ithome  !"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Chub,  with  great  exultation,  from  the  opposite  side 
of  the  table.  •'•  I  should  like  to  have  heard  Mr.  Wart  exhorting 
his  men  !" 

"  I  will  tell  you  exactly  what  he  said,  for  I  was  there  at  the 
time,"  said  Ned  Hazard  ;  "  Follow  me,  my  brave  boys  !  the  eyes 
of  the  world  are  upon  you ;  keep  yours  upon  my  white  plume, 
land  let  that  be  your  rallying  point !" 

I       "  Pish  !"  cried  Philly,  turning  round  and  showing  his  black 

teeth  with  a  good-natured,  half-tipsy  grin,  '•  I  said  no  such  thing. 

1  told  them,  what  it  was  my  duty  to  tell  them,  that  we  had  joined 

j  issue  with  the  British  Government,  and  had  come  to  the  ultima 

'  ratio  ;  aad  that  we  must  now  make  up  our  minds  to  die  on  the 

field  of  our  country's  honor,  rather  than  see  her  soil  polluted  with 


342  THE     DliNiNEIl     TABLE. 

the  footsteps  of  an  invader ;  that  an  enemy  was  at  our  doc 
threatening  our  iiresides." 

"  You  told  them."  interrupted  Hazard  again,  "  that  the  ne: 
morning's  sun  might  find  them  stark  and  stiff  and  gory,  on  tl 
dew-besprinkled  sod.  I  can  remember  those  expressions  as  wc 
as  if  it  were  yesterday." 

"  I  might  have  said  something  like  that,"  replied  Philly,  "  I 
way  of  encouragement  to  the  men.     However,  this  you  recoUe 
well  enough,  Ned,  that  there  was  not  a  man  in  the  corps  whoi. 
mind  was  not  as  perfectly  made  up  to  die  as  to  eat  his  dinner." 

"  All,  except^ old  Shakebag,  the  tavernkeeper,"  said  Ned,  "  ar 
he  was  short-winded  and  pursy,  and  might  be  excused  for  prefe 
ring  his  dinner." 

"  I  except  him,"  replied  Mr.  Wart,  and  then  proceeded  wil 
his  narrative.  "  As  soon  as  I  had  finished  my  address,  I  di 
solved  the  square,  and  instantly  took  up  the  line  of  march." 

"  You  should  say  rather  that  you  took  up  the  charge,"  sai 
Ned,  "  for  you  went  out  of  the  village  in  line,  at  full  speed,  wit 
swords  brandishing  above  your  heads.  You  led  the  way,  wit 
Harry  Davenport  close  at  your  heels,  thursting  his  long  lan( 
right  at  the  seat  of  your  yellow  buckskins,  and  shouting  like 
savage." 

"  What  was  that  for?"  I  asked  with  some  astonishment. 

"  Ned  puts  a  coloring  on  it,"  replied  the  counsellor ;  "  I  di 
go  out  from  the  court  house  at  a  charge,  but  there  was  r 
brandishing  of  swords  ;  we  carry  our  swords,  Mr.  Littleton,  in  tl 
charge,  at  arm's  length,  the  blade  being  extended  horizontally  e; 
actly  parallel  with  the  line  of  the  eyes.  I  did  this  to  give  tl 
men  courage." 

"  How  near  was  the  enemy  at  this  time  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  They  had  not  landed,"  answered  Ned  gravely,  "  but  wei 
expected  to  land  at  Craney  Island,  about  one  hundred  miles  off 

Here  was  a  shout  of  applause  from  the  table. 


THE     DINNER     T  A  IJ  L  E  .  343 

"  I  can  tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Wart,  for  he  was  too  much 
flustered  to  take  any  thing  in  joke  that  passed,  "  there  is  no  time 
so  important  in  a  campaign  as  when  an  army  first  breaks  ground. 
If  you  can  keep  your  men  in  heart  at  the  starting  point,  you  may 
make  them  do  what  you  please  afterwards." 

"  That's  true  !"  said  Mr.  Chub,  who  had  evinced  great  interest 
in  Philly's  narrative  from  the  beginning,  and  was  even  more  im- 
pervious than  the  lawyer  himself  to  the  waggery  of  the  table. 
"  Cyrus  would  never  have  persuaded  the  Greeks  to  march  with 
him  to  Babylon,  if  he  had  not  made  them  believe  that  they  were 
going  only  against  the  Pisidians.  Such  stratagems  are  consider- 
ed lawful  in  war.  It  was  a  masterly  thing  in  my  opinion,  this 
device  of  Mr.  Wart's." 

"  Had  you  severe  service  ?"  asked  Meriwether. 

"  Tolerably  severe,"  replied  Philly,  '•'  while  it  lasted.  It. 
rained  upon  us  nearly  the  whole  way  from  here  to  Norfolk,  and 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  ague  and  fever  in  the  country  at  that 
time,  which  we  ran  great  risk  of  taking,  because  we  were  obliged 
to  keep  up  a  guard  night  and  day." 

"  You  had  an  engagement  I  think  I  have  heard  ?"  said  I. 

"  Pretty  nearly  the  same  thing,"  answered  Mr.  Wart.  "  The 
enemy  never  landed  whilst  I  remained,  except,  I  believe,  to  get 
some  pigs  and  fowls  on  Craney  Island :  but  we  had  frequent 
alarms,  and  several  times  were  drawn  up  m  a  line  of  battle,  which 
is  more  trying  to  men,  Mr.  Littleton,  than  actual  fighting.  It 
gave  me  a  good  opportunity  to  see  what  my  fellows  were  made  of. 
Harry  Davenport  was  a  perfect  powder-magazine.  The  rascal 
wanted  us  one  night  to  swim  our  horses  over  to  the  Island.  Gad, 
I  believe  he  would  have  gone  by  himself  if  I  hadn't  forbidden 
him !" 

"  Your  campaign  lasted  some  time  ?"  said  I. 

"  About  a  week,"  replied  Philly.  "  No,  I  am  mistaken,  it  was 
rather  more,  for  it  took  us  three  days  to  return  home.     And  such 


344  THE     DINNER,     TABLE. 

a  set  of  madcaps  as  we  had  all  the  way  back  to  the  court  house 
Nothinsr  but  scrub  races  the  whole  distance  !" 

•'  Now,"  said  Harvey  Riggs,  looking  at  Mr.  Wart  with  a  fact, 
of  sly  raillery,  "  now  that  you  have  got  through  this  celebratee 
campaign,  tell  us  how  many  men  you  had." 

"  Seven  rank  and  file,"  said  Ned,  answering  for  him. 

" Tiddle-de-dee  !"  exclaimed  Mr  Wart.     "  I  had  twenty  !" 

'•  On  your  honor,  as  a  trooper  ?"  cried  Ned. 

"  On  my  voir  dire]''  said  Philly,  hesitating. — "  I  had  nine  ir 
uniform,  and  I  forget  how  many  were  not  in  uniform, — because 
I  didn't  allow  these  fellows  to  go  with  us  ;  but  they  had  very  gooc 
hearts  for  it.  Nine  men,  bless  your  soul,  sir,  on  horseback,  strung 
out  in  Indian  file,  make  a  very  formidable  display !" 

"  Well,  it  was  a  very  gallant  thing,  take  it  altogether,"  said 
Harvey.  ''•  So,  gentlemen,  fill  your  glasses.  Here's  to  Captain 
Wart  of  the  Invincible  Blues,  the  genuine  representative  of  the 
chivalry  of  the  Old  Dominion  !" 

As  the  feast  drew  to  a  close,  the  graver  members  of  the  partj 
stole  off  to  the  drawing-room,  leaving  behind  them  that  happy 
remnant  which  may  be  called  the  sifted  wheat  of  the  stack. 
There  sat  Harvey  Kiggs,  with  his  broad,  laughing  face  mellowed 
by  wine  and  good  cheer,  and  with  an  eye  rendered  kindly  by  long 
shining  on  merry  meetings,  lolling  over  two  chairs,  whilst  he  urged 
the  potations  like  a  seasoned  man,  and  a  thirsty.  And  there  sat 
Meriwether,  abstemious  but  mirthful,  with  a  face  and  heart  brim- 
ful of  benevolence ;  beside  him,  the  inimitable  original  Philly 
Wart.  And  there,  too,  was  seen  the  jolly  parson,  priestlike  even 
over  his  cups,  filled  with  wonder  and  joy  to  see  the  tide  of  mirth 
run  BO  in  the  flood  ;  ever  and  anon  turning,  with  bewildered 
eagerness,  from  one  to  another  of  his  compotators,  in  doubt  as  to 
which  pleased  him  most.  And  there,  too.  above  all,  was  Ned 
Hazard,  an  imp  of  laughter,  with  his  left  arm  dangling  over  the 


THE     DINNER     TABLE.  345 

ck  of  his  chair,  and  his  right  lifting  up  his  replenished  glass 
i,  high,  to  catch  its  sparkling  beams  in  the  light ;  his  head  tossed 
igligently  back  upon  his  shoulder  ;  and  from  his  mouth  forth 
iiuing,  with  an  elongated  puflF,  that  richer  essence  than  incense 
(I  Araby :  his  dog  Wilful,  too,  privileged  as  himself,  with  his 
ilthful  face  recumbent  between  his  master's  knees. 
Such  arc  the  images  that  gladden  the  old-fashioned  wassail  of 

rginia. 

15* 


ft 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A     BREAKING     UP.  '^- 

They  wlio  remained  at  the  dinner  table  were  at  last  summoi 
to  tea  and  coffee  in  the  adjoining  apartment,  where  the  ladies 
the  family  were  assembled.  It  was  about  sunset,  and  Mr.  Trac 
carriage,  with  two  or  three  saddle-horses,  was  at  the  door, 
soon  as  this  short  meal  was  dispatched,  Catharine  and  Bel  mr 
their  preparations  for  departure.  Ned,  like  a  flustering  lov 
was  officiously  polite  in  his  attentions  to  the  lady  of  his  afi 
tions :  he  had  brought  Bel  her  bonnet,  and  assisted  in  adjusti 
it  to  her  head,  with  supererogatory  care  ;  and,  as  he  led  her 
the  carriage,  he  took  occasion,  with  many  figures  of  speech,  to  i 
her  how  much  he  participated  in  the  affliction  she  had  experien( 
by  the  loss  of  Fairbourne  ;  and,  as  he  was  sure  the  recreant  ( 
not  meditate  a  total  separation  from  his  mistress,  he  vowed  , 
bring  him  back  to  her  if  he  was  to  be  found  alive  in  the  coud 
Bel  endeavored  to  evade  the  service  tendered ;  and,  getting  i: ' 
the  coach,  she  and  Catharine  were  soon  in  full  progress  hoi  '• 
ward. 

Mr.  Tracy's  horse  was  led  up  to  the  steps,  and  the  old  gen^ 
man,  after  some  civil  speeches  to  the  company,  a  little  bragg  { 
of  his  ability  as  a  horseman,  and  a  respectful  valedictory  to  Mh 
wether,  clambered  up  with  a  slow  but  unassisted  effort  into  ^ 
saddle. 


A    BREAKING    UP.  347 

"  I  should  make  a  brave  fox-hunter  yet,  Mr.  Wart,"  said  he 
ith  some  exultation,  -when  he  found  himself  in  his  seat,  "  and 
ould  puzzle  you  to  throw  me  out  on  a  fair  field.  You  see  I  can 
•ink,  too,  with  the  best  of  you.  I  am  good  pith  yet,  Mr.  Meri- 
:ther  !" 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,"  said  Meriwether,  smiling,  '•  you  do 
.nders !  There  is  not  to-day  in  Virginia,  a  better  mounted 
•rseman  of  the  same  age." 

j  "  Good  eating  and  drinking,  Mr.  Meriwether,  and  good  wine, 
irm  the  blood  of  an  old  grasshopper  like  me,  and  set  him  to 
lirping,  if  he  can  do  nothing  else.  Come,  Kalph,  you  and  Har- 
y  must  get  to  your  horses :  I  will  have  my  aide-de-camps. 
Ofint,  you  young  dogs,  and  never  lag  !  I  allow  no  grass  to  grow 
my  horse's  heels,  I  warrant  ye  !     Mount  and  begone  !" 

The  two  attendants  obeyed  the  order,  and  reined  their  steeds 
ar  to  his. 

"  Now  don't  run  away  from  us,"  said  Harvey. 

"  Why,  as  I  think   upon  it  again,  Harvey,  more  maturely," 
i  ilied  the  old  gentleman.  "  I  think  we  will  jog  along  slowly ;  we 
ght  alarm  the  horses  of  the  carriage  if  we  got  to  any  of  our 
rum-scarum  pranks.     So,  good  evening  !  good  evening  !" 

With  these  words  the  cavalcade  set  forward  at  a  brisk  walk, 
ilr.  Tracy  gesticulating  in  a  manner  that  showed  him  to  be  en- 
■  aed  in  an  animated  conversation  with  his  companions. 

Soon  after  this,  Mr.  Swansdown's  curricle  was  brought  to  the 

)r.     This  gentleman,  with  a  languid   and   delicate  grace,  ap- 

/.cd   Meriwether  that  he  was  about  '-to  wing  his  flight"  to 

'herrin,  there  to  immerse  himself  in  pursuits  which  his  present 

V  it  had  suspended  ;  and,  consequently,  he   could  not  promise 

uself  the  pleasure  of  soon  again  meeting  his  worthy  friend  at 

'  allow  Barn.     He  reminded  his  host,  however,  that  he  would 

cItj  into  his  retirement  the  agreeable  consciousness  that  his 


348  A    BREAKING    UP, 

visit  had  not  been  a  fruitless  one,  since  it  had  contributed  so  hj 
pily  to  the  termination  of  an  ancient  dispute.     He  particulaij 
insisted  on  the  honor  of  a  return  visit  from  Meriwether  and 
friends. 

His  parting  with  the  ladies  might  be  said  to  have  been  ei 
touching.     It  presented  an  elegant  compound  of  sensibility  a  | 
deference.     Prudence  could  not  possibly  mistake  the  impress*^ 
he  designed  to  convey  to  her.     He  gently  shook  her  gloved  jj 
ger,  as  he  said,  with  a  gentle  and  embarrassed  smile,  "  I  partij 
larly  regret  that  the  nature  of  the  occupation  to  which  I  am  al 
to  return  is  such   as  to  engross  me  for  some  months,  and  m* 
probably  may  compel  me  again  to  cross  the  Atlantic.      ItO 
likely,  therefore,  that  I  shall  have  added  some  years  to  my 
count  before  we  meet  again.     Your  fate  will  be  doubtless  chanjj 
before  that  happens :  as  for  mine,  I  need  scarcely  allude  to  iti 
am  already  written  down  a  predestined  cumberer  of  the  soil 
still  may  hope,  I  trust,  to  be  sometimes  remembered  as  a  pass] 
shadow." 

"  He  means  to  write  a  book,  and  die  a  bachelor,  poor  del 
That  is  the  English  of  this  flourish,"  said  Ned  to  Prudence 
soon  as  Swandsdown  walked  towards  the  front  door. 

Pru  was  silent,  and  inwardly  vexed.     At  length  she  saici^ 
Ned,  "  He  attaches  more  consequence  to  his  movements  than 
body  else." 

Shortly  after  this,  the  glittering  vehicle,  with  its  dainty  1*- 
den,  was  seen  darting  into  the  distant  forest. 

One  after   another  our  guests  followed,  until  none  were  jt 

but   Mr.  Wart  and  Hedges,  who  having  determined  to  ride  J- 

i 

gether  as  far  as  the  Court-House,  were  waiting,  as  they  said,  y 
til  the  night  should  fairly  set  in,  in  order  that  they  might  Ip 
the  coolness  of  the  "little  hours"  for  their  journey.  i 

"  Well,  Mr.  Chub,"  said  Philly,  "  what  do  you  think  of  fr 
friend  Swansdown?" 


A    BREAKING    UP.  349 

•  I  am  glad  he  is  gone,"  replied  the  parson  ;  "  in  my  opinion 

'his  very  fatiguing." 

']  lln  a  few  minutes  after  this,  the  counsellor  dropped  asleep  in 
hi  chair,  leaving   Meriwether  in   an  unusually  argumentative 

'  in()d,  but  unfortunately  without  a  listener.  Frank  had  drawn 
ujto  the  window,  and  thrown  his  feet  carelessly  against  the  sill, 

'bAs  to  give  himself  that  half  recumbent  posture  which  is  sup- 
picd  to  be  most  favorable  to  all  calm  and  philosophic  discus- 

■~si!is.     He  had  launched  upon  one  of  those  speculative  voyages 

'  inyhich  it  was  his  wont  to  circumnavigate  the  world  of  thought ; 

"  ai  as  there  were  no  lights  in  the  room,  he  continued  to  pour 
io  the  unconscious  ears  of  his  friend  Wart  his  startling  random- 
sits  of  wisdom,  for  half  an  hour  before  he  became  aware  of  his 
njdifying  labor.  Finding,  however,  that  no  answer  came  from 
tl  quarter  to  which  he  addressed  himself,  he  suddenly  stopped 
sht  with  the  exclamation,  '•  God  bless  me  !  Mr.  Wart,  have  you 
bca  asleep  all  this  time?  truly,  I  have  been  sowing  my  seed 
njn  a  rock.     But  sleep  on,  don't  let  me  disturb  you." 

■  I"  Asleep  !"  replied  Philly,  waking  up  at  hearing  himself  ad- 
dipsed  by  name,  as  a  man  who  dozes  in  company  is  apt  to  do ; 
**l)t  I,  I  assure  you:  I  have  heard  every  word  you  have  said. 

'  itas  altogether  just ;  indeed  I  couldn't  gainsay  a  word,  but  I 
tljik,  Mr.  Hedges,  it  is  time  for  us  to  be  moving." 

Meriwether  laughed,  and  remarked  that  Mr.  Hedges  had  left 
:  tlj  room  some  time  since  with  Mr.  Chub. 

''•At  all  events,"  said  Philly,  "we  will  have  our  horses.     It 
isjime  we  were  upon  our  journey." 

'Every  effort  was  made  to  detain  him  and  his  companion  uu- 

tithe  next  morning;  but  the  counsellor  was  obstinate  in  his  re- 

s(|'e  to  be  off  that  night,  observing  that  he  had  already  taken  a 

•loj^er  holiday  at  Swallow  Barn  than  he  had  allowed  himself  in 

tl  last  fifteen  years ;  "  and  as  to  the  hour,"  said  he,  '•  I  am  an 


350  A    DUE  AKIN  G    UP.  | 

.  i 

old  stager  on  the  road,  and  have  long  since  lost  all  discriminatk; 
between  night  and  day."  : 

•'But  it  is  very  dark,"  said  Hazard,  "and  threatens  rail 
You  will  assuredly  be  caught  in  a  thunder-storm  before  you  g-! 
three  miles." 

"  Wet  or  dry,"  replied  the  other,  "  it  makes  but  a  small  ma 
ter  in  the  account.  I  don't  think  a  shower  would  take  much  •{ 
the  gloss  from  my  old  coat,"  he  added,  looking  round  at  h 
skirts,  "  and  as  for  Hedges  here,  I  know  he  is  neither  sugar  nc' 
salt." 

"With  a  julep  before  we  go,"  said  Hedges,  "and  anoth( 
when  we  stop,  you  may  put  as  much  wet  and  darkness  betwec 
the  two  as  you  please,  for  me.  So  let  us  pad  our  saddles  accor 
ing  to  the  old  recipe,  '  A  spur  in  the  head  is  worth  two  on  tl 
heel.' "  ] 

Saying  this,  he  went  to  the  sideboard  and  helped  himse' 
rather  beyond  the  approved  allowance.     "  I  have  a  laudable  a 
tempt  for  thin  potations,  Mr.  Wart,"  he  added  as  he  took  oflF  h 
glass. 

The  horses  were  at  the  door  ;  it  was  now  about  ten  o'clock 
when  the  two  travellers  were  mounted,  Philly  whistled  up  Li 
hounds,  and  they  set  forward  on  their  dark  journey. 


I 


I 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


KNIGHT    ERRANTRY. 


E  next  morning   Hazard  appeared  a  little  perplexed.     Not- 
hstanding  the  apparent  recklessness  of  his  character,  it  be- 
gs to  him,  as  it  does  to  the  greater  number  of  those  persons 
0  put  on  an  irresponsible  face  in  the  world,  to  feel  acutely  any 
pposed  diminution  of  the  esteem  of  his  friends  induced  by  his 
indiscretion.     In  the  present  insta^ace   he  was  particularly 
oxious  to  this  sentiment.     Bel's  good  opinion  of  him  was  the 
y  breath  of  his  nostrils,  and  her  rigid  estimate  of  the  proprie- 
"es  of  life  the  greatest  of  his  terrors.      His  perplexity  arose  from 
is,  that  he  had  given  way  the  day  before  at  the  dinner- table  to 
e  natural  impulses  of  his  character,  and  in  spite  of  the  admoni- 
)ry  presence  of  the  lady  of  his  soul,  nay,  perhaps  elevated  into 
,  more  dangerous  gayety  by  that  very  circumstance,  he  had  pos- 
jibly  (for  such  a  temper  as  his  is  least  of  all  others  able  to  know 
le  true  state  of  things),  in  her  very  sight  and  hearing,  committed 
thousand  trespasses  upon  her  notions  of  decorum.     AVhether 
e  had  or  not,  he  was  in  doubt,  and  afraid  to  inquire.     All  that 
3  knew  of  the  matter  was,  that,  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  he  had 
lassed  through  a  succession  of  agreeable  changes ;  had  begun  the 
ay  with  a  certain  calm  pleasure,  rose  from  that  into  a  copious 
ow  of  spirits,  thence  to  an  exuberant  merriment,  and  thence 
ito — what  he  could  not  precisely  tell :  heavens  knows  if  it  were 


352  KNIGHT    ERRANTRY. 

I 

riot  or  moderate  revelry,  outrageous  foolery  or  lawful  mirth!— 
the  prospect  from  that  point  was  a  misty,  dreamy,  undefinec 
mass  of  pleasant  images.  Of  this  he  was  conscious,  that  afte; 
drinking  much  wine,  and  while  recking  with  the  fumes  of  tobac 
CO,  (a  thing  utterly  abhorrent  to  Bel,)  he  had  certainly  venturet 
into  her  presence,  and  had  said  a  great  many  things  to  her  ii 
very  hyperbolical  language,  and,  if  he  was  not  mistaken,  in  some, 
what  of  a  loud  voice.  Perhaps,  too,  he  might  have  been  rathe 
thick  of  speech !  The  recurrence  of  the  scene  to  his  thought, 
this  morning  rather  disturbed  him. 

There  was  one  consolation  in  the  matter.  Bel's  father,  th 
very  personation,  in  her  view,  of  all  that  was  decorous  and  prope 
— the  Nestor  of  the  day — the  paragon  of  precision — had,  it  wa 
admitted  on  all  hands,- left  Swallow  Barn  very  decidedly  exhih; 
rated  with  wine.  If  Bel  believed  this,  (and  how  could  she  fa:, 
to  see  it?)  the  fact  would  go  a  great  way  towards  Ned's  extenur 
tion.  And  then  the  occasion  too  ! — a  special  compliment  to  M; 
Tracy.  Tut!  It  was  as  pardonable  a  case  as  could  be  mad; 
out! 

Amidst  the  retrospects  of  the  morning  Hazard  had  not  fo; 
gotten  the  promise  he  had  made  Bel  the  night  before,  to  attemj 
the  recovery  of  her  hawk.  Harvey  Riggs  before  dinner  had  ii| 
formed  him  of  Bel's  loss,  and  of  his,  Harvey's,  engagement  th?; 
Ned  should  bring  back  her  bird.  Hazard  was  not  aware  that 
had  heard  him  pledge  himself  to  this  task  as  he  assisted  Bel  I, 
the  carriage  ;  nor  did  he  mention  it  to  me  toiday,  when  he  atj 

nounced  after  breakfast  that  he  had  ordered  our  horses  toil' 

*.  ...  J 

door  for  a  ride.     Without  questioning  his  purpose,  I  readijj 

agreed  to  accompany  him;  and,  therefore,  at  an  early  hour  v 

were  both   mounted,  and,  followed  by  Wilful,  we  took  the  rof  j  ' 

leading  from  Swallow  Barn  immediately  up  the  river.  | 

"  Now,"  said  I,  after  we  had  ridden   some  distance,  "  prij 


Itan 
M 


% 


KNIGHT    ERRANTRY.  353 

I  me  what  is  the  object  of  this  early  and  secret  enterprise,  and 
Vat  makes  you  so  abstracted  this  morning?" 

"  I  wish  to  heaven,  Mark,"  replied  Ned,  half  peevishly,  '•  that 
tls  business  were  settled  one  way  or  another!" — Ned  always 
■g;)ke  to  me  of  his  courtship  as  '•  this  business ;"  he  had  a  boy- 
iji  repugnance  to  call  it  by  its  right  name.  "  Here  am  I,"  he 
citinued,  '•  a  man  grown,  in  a  girl's  leading-strings,  '  turned 
fj-ehorse  to  a  smock,'  as  Shakspeare  calls  it.     Saint  David  speed 

and  put  me  out  of  misery  !     Now,  what  do  you  think,  Mark, 

all  the  adventures  in  the  world,  I  am  bound  upon  at  this  mo- 
int?" 

"Why,  sir,"  I  answered,  "upon  the  most  reasonable  wild- 
jjose  chase  that  ever  a  man  in  love  pursued.  I  never  knew  you 
I'fore  to  do  so  wise  a  thing ;  for  I  take  it  that  you  and  I  are 
jjready  in  search  of  Bel's  hawk.  There  are  not  more  than  a 
I'.Uion  birds  about ;  and  I'll  be  bound  Fairbourne  is  one  of  them ! 
|e  is  certainly  within  a  hundred  miles,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
Jxiously  expecting  us." 

:  "  Conjurer  that  thou  art !"  said  Ned,  "  how  did  thy  foolish  brain 
|id  that  out  ?" 

I  "Didn't  I  hear  you  last  night,  when  you  were  so  tipsy  that 
>(i  could  hardly  stand,  bleat  into  Bel's  ear  that  you  would  neither 
ke  rest  nor  food  until  you  restored  her  renegade  favorite  to  her 
lit?" 

"  Did  I  say  that  ?"  exclaimed  Ned.  "  Was  I  not  supremely 
|diculous?"         '  V-- 

i  "  I  can't  pretend  to  do  justice  to  your  Jphguage  on  the  occa- 
on.  It  would  require  higher  poetical  powers  than  I  boast  of  to 
|aitate,  even  in  a  small  degree,  the  euphuism  of  your  speech, 
'he  common  superlatives  of  the  dictionary  would  make  but  poor 
psitives  for  my  use,  if  I  attempted  it." 
(    "  Look  you,  now  !"  said  Hazard,  "  Is  not  this  deplorable,  that 


354  KNIGHT    ERRANTRY. 


lP#' 


a  man  should  have  a  mistress  who  hates  a  fool  above  all  worldl 
plagues,  and  yet  be  so  bestridden  by  his  evil  genius  that  he  ma 
never  appear  any  thing  else  to  her  !  I  am  not  such  a  miserabl 
merry-andrew  by  nature,  and  yet,  by  circumstances,  wherevc 
Bel  is  concerned,  I  am  ever  the  v'-y  crown-piece  of  folly  !" 

"  And  do  you  think,"  said  I,  '•  that  this  little  girl,  so  instinc; 
as  she  is,  with  the  liveliest  animal  impulses, — a  laughing  nympl 
— is  such  a  Cato  in  petticoats  as  to  be  noting  down  your  nonsens 
in  her  tablets  for  rebuke  ?     Why,  sir,  that  is  the  very  point  upo 
which  you  must  hope  to  win  her  !" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  wasn't  respectful,"  said  Ned. 

"  I  assure  you,"  I  replied,  "  that,  so  far  from  not  being  r 
spectful,  you  were  the  most  ridiculously  observant,  reverentia 
and  obsequious  ass, — considering  that  you  were  in  your  cups,— 
ever  saw." 

"  Was  I  so  ?"  exclaimed  Ned.     "  Then  I  am  content ;  for.c 
that  score,  Bel  is  as  great  a  fool  as  I  am  or  any  other.     Now,  •  tk]k 
I  can  only  bring  her  back  her  bird,"  he  said  exultingly, — "  and  [ 
have  some  presentiment  that  I  shall  get  tidings  of  him, — I  sha] 
rise  to  the  very  top  of  her  favor."  '  \ 

Saying  this,  Ned  spurred  forward  to  a  gallop,  and  flourishci 
his  whip  in  the  air  as  he  called  to  me  to  follow  at  the  sanr; 
speed  ■-'  I  fkm 

"  Mark,  watch  every  thing  that  flies,"  he  cried  out ;  "  you  mt] 
see  the  harness  about  his  legs  ;  and  listen  for  the  bells,  for  tf ! 
truant  can't  move  without  jangling, — '  I  live  in  my  lady's  grac<! 
— remember  the  motto  !"  j 

"  Now,  by  our  lady  ! — I  mean  our  lady  Bel,"  said  I,  "  fi 
henceforth  1  will  swear  by  none  but  her, — I  am  as  keen  opf  i 
this  quest  as  yourself  I  vow  not  to  sleep  until  I  hear  somethir 
of  this  ungrateful  bird."  ' 

My  reader  would  perhaps  deem  it  a  hopeless  venturo  to  si 


lb  I 

USDf 


U 


I  KNIGHT    ERR  ANTRY.  355 

inpt  the  recovery  of  a  bird  under  the  circumstances  of  this  case  ; 
it  it  will  occur  to  him,  if  he  be  read  in  romance,  that  it  was  not 
unusual  an  exploit  to  regain  a  stray  hawk  as  he  might  at  first 
lagine.  A  domesticated  bird  will  seldom  wander  far  from  his 
customed  haunt  ;  and,  being  alien  to  the  wild  habits  of  his 
(cies,  will,  almost  invariably,  resort  to  the  dwellings  of  man. 
lirbourne  having  been  known  to  direct  his  flight  up  the  river, 
3  had  good  reason  to  hope  that  the  inhabitants  of  this  quarter 
ight  put  our  search  upon  a  successful  track. 

For  a  good  half  mile,  therefore,  we  rode  at  speed  along  the 
ghway  leading  to  the  ferry.  The  velocity  of  our  motion,  com- 
ning  with  the  extravagant  nature  of  the  enterprise,  and  the 
jreeable  temperature  of  the  morning,  cloudless  and  cool,  had 
lised  our  spirits  to  a  high  pitch.  In  this  mood  we  soon  arrived 
Sandy  Walker's  little  inn  upon  the  river.  All  that  we  could 
am  here  was,  that  the  hawk  had  been  seen  in  the  neighborhood 
le  day  before,  and  had  probably  continued  his  flight  further  up 
le  river. 

i    With  this  intimation  we  proceeded  rapidly  upon  our  pursuit. 

|t  was  near  noon  when,  through  many  devious   paths,  visiting 

cry  habitation  that  fell  in  our  way,  we  had  gained  a  point  about 

e  miles  distant  from  Swallow  Barn.     Some  doubtful  tidings  of 

fairbourne  were  obtained  at  one  or  two  houses  on  the  road  :  bu. 

r  the  last  hour  our  journey  had  been  without  encouragement, 

nd  we  began   to  feel  oppressed  with  the  mid-day  fervors  of  the 

eason.     It  was,  therefore,  somewhat  despairingly  that  we  halted 

13  hold  a  consultation  whether  or  not  we  should  push  our  expedi- 

ion  farther. 

Not  far  distant  from  the  road  we  could  perceive  the  ridge-pole 
f  a  log  cabin  showing  itself  above  a  patch  of  luxuriant  Indian 
orn.  This  little  dwelling  stood  upon  the  bank  of  the  river  ; 
l.nd,  as  a  last  essay,  we  resolved  to  visit  it,  and  interest  its  inmates 


lid) 
Ito] 


pli 


356  KNIGHT    ERRANTRY. 

in  the  object  of  our  enterprise.  It  was  with  some  difficulty  thai  if 
we  made  our  way  through  a  breach  in  the  high  worm-fence  thai 
bounded  the  road  ;  and,  after  struggling  along  a  path  beset  witlj 
blackberries  and  briars,  we  at  length  found  ourselves  encompasseti 
by  the  corn  immediately  around  the  hut.  At  this  moment  Wiif 
ful  sprang  from  the  path,  and  ran  eagerly  towards  the  yard  if 
the  rear  of  the  dwelling.  He  did  not  halt  until  he  arrived  at  aj 
apple-tree,  where  hung  a  rude  cage  ;  under  this  he  continued  i\ 
bark  with  quick  and  redoubled  earnestness,  until  Ned  called  hiij 
back  with  a  peremptory  threat,  that  brought  him  crouching  b«l 
neath  the  feet  of  our  horses,  where  he  remained,  restless  an] 
whining,  every  now  and  then  making  a  short  bound  in  the  dire-ij 
tion  of  the  tree,  and  looking  up  wistfully  in  Hazard's  face.  ; 

In  the  mean  time  an  old  negro  woman  had  come  to  the  dooi^    iitni 
and,  as  Ned  engaged  her  in  conversation,  Wilful  stole  off  uno 
served  a  second  time  to  the  tree,  where  he  fell  to  jumping  x\ 
against  the  trunk,  uttering,  at  the  same  time,  a  short,  half-subduf! 
howl.  ; 

"  There  is  something  in  the  branches  above  the  cage,"  lei     ^ 
claimed,  as  I  followed  the  movements  of  the  dog  with  my  eyi  ' 
"It  is  Fairbourne  himself!  I  see  the  silver  rings  upon  his  le; 
glittering  through  the  leaves  !" 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Mark,  keep  quiet !"  cried  Ned,  springii' 
from  his  horse,  "  If  it  be  Fairbourne  in  truth,  we  may  get  hi 
by  persuasion,  but  never  by  alarming  him.  Dismount  quickl 
Wilful— back,  sir." 

I  got  down  from  my  saddle,  and  the  horses  were  deliver 
into  the  charge  of  the  old  woman.     Wilful  crept  back  to  1 1 
door  of  the  hut.     Ned  and  myself  cautiously  advanced  to  recci 
noitre. 

As  soon  as  all  was  still,  to  our  infinite  joy,  Fairbourne :|  ^\ 
proper  identity  descended  from  his  leafy  bower  and  porclied  up 


tki 


KNIGHT    ERRANTRY.  357 

|he  top  of  the  cage.     Some  association  of  this  abode  of  the  mock- 

fig-bird  with  his  own  prison  in  the  mulberry-tree  at  the  Brakes, 

jadj  possibly,  attracted  and  bound  him  to  this  spot ;  and  there  he 

lit,  seemingly  quiet  and  melancholy,  and  struck  with  contrition 

l)r  the  folly  that  had  tempted  him  to  desert  his  mistress  and  his 

|iew.     I  thought  he  recognized  an  acquaintance  in  Wilful ;  for 

3  the  dog  moved  about,  Fairbourne's  quick  eye  followed  him  from 

lace  to  place  ;  and,  so  far  from  showing  perturbation  at  Wilful's 

resence,  he  composedly  mantled  his  wing  and  stretched  his  neck. 

3  if  pleased  with  the  discovery. 

Assured  by  these  manifestations,  Ned  addressed  the  bird  in 

18  words  of  endearment  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed,  and 

jOwly  stepped  forward  towards  the  tree.     Fairbourne,  however, 

las  distrustful,  and  retreated  to  the  boughs.     After  much  solici- 

^tion  on  the  part  of  Hazard,  and  a  great  deal  of  prudery  on  that 

"  the  hawk,  we  had  recourse  to  some  morsels  of  meat  obtained 

om  the  hut.     These  Ned  threw  upon  the  earth,  and  Fairbourne, 

nched  by  hunger  and  unable  to  resist,  pounced  upon  them  with 

ji  unguarded  voracity.     Still,  as  Ned  advanced  upon  him  he 

jitreated  along  the  ground,  without  flying.     A  piece  of  the  cord 

jhich  Bel  had  used  as  her  creauce,  some  three  or  four  feet  in 

I 

ngth,  was  attached  to  his  jesses,  and  served  in  some  degree  to 

abarrass  his  progress,  as  it  was  dragged  through  the  grass. 

azard  endeavored  to  place  his  foot  upon  the  end  of  this  line, 

it  as  yet  had  been  baffled  in  every  efibrt.     Wilful  seemed  to 

mprehend  the  purpose,  and  with  admirable  sagacity  stole  a  cir- 

lit  round  the  bird,  drawing  nearer  to  him  at  every  step,  and 

en,  with  a  sudden  and  skilful  leap,  sprang  upon  him,  in  such  a 

anner  as  effectually  to  secure  his  captive,  scarcely  ruffling  a 

ather.     Hazard  rushed  forward  at  the  same  instant,  and  made 

>od  his  prize,  by  seizing  his  wing  and  bearing  him   off  to  the 

it. 


358  KNIGHT    ERRANTRY. 

The  good  fortune  of  this  discoyery  and  the  singular  succei 
that  attended  it,  threw  us  into  transports.     Ned  shouted  b.) 
huzzaed,  and  tossed  up  his  hat  in  the  air,  until  the  old  negl 
woman  began  to  look  in  his  face  to  see  if  he  were  in  his  sens*  j 
The  hawk,  the  unconscious  cause  of  all  this  extravagance,  look ' 
like  a  discomfited  prisoner  of  war,  bedraggled,  travel-worn  a:' 
soiled, — a  tawdry  image  of  a  coxcomb.     His  straps  and  be 
hanging  about  his  legs  had  the  appearance  of  shabby  finery  ;  a 
his  whole  aspect  was  that  of  a  forlorn,  silly,  and  wayward  minii, 
wearing  the  badge  of  slavery  instead  of  that  of  the  wild  and  g 
lant  freebooter   of  the  air  so  conspicuously  expressed  in  i 
character  of  his  tribe. 

Congratulating  ourselves  on  our  good  luck,  we  began  to  p 
pare  for  our  homeward  journey.  The  negro  received  an  am ; 
bounty  for  the  assistance  afi'orded  in  the  capture  :  the  jesses  w  ; 
repaired  and  secured  to  Fairbourne's  legs,  and  the  bird  himjf 
made  fast  to  Hazard's  hand.  In  a  few  moments  we  were  - 
mounted  and  cantering  in  the  direction  of  Swallow  Barn,  wit  i 
lightness  of  spirits  in  Hazard  that  contrasted  amusingly  with  s 
absolute  despondence  half  an  hour  before. 


'      .J 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


A    JOUST    AT    UTTERANCE. 


"We  had  not  travelled  far  on  our  return  to  Swallow  Barn,  before 
we  arrived  at  a  hamlet  that  stands  at  the  intersection  of  a  cross- 
road.    This  consists  of  a  little  store,  a  wheelwright's  shop,  and 
one  or  two  cottages,  with  their  outhouses.     The  store  was  of  that 
miscellaneous   character  which  is   adapted  to  the  multifarious 
wants  of  a  country  neighborhood,  and  displayed  a  tempting  as- 
sortment of  queensware,  rat-traps,  tin  kettles,  hats,  fiddles,  shoes, 
!  calicoes,  cheese,  sugar,  allspice,  jackknives  and  jewsharps, — the 
i  greater  part  of  which  was  announced  in  staring  capitals  on  the 
i  window-shutter,  with  the  persuasive  addition,  that  they  were  all 
of  the  best  quality  and  to  be  had  on  the  most  accommodating 
terms.     The  rival  establishment  of  the  wheelwright  was  an  old 
;  shed  sadly  bedaubed  with  the  remainder  colors  of  the  paint-brush, 
,  and  with  some  preposterous  exaggerations  in  charcoal  of  distin- 
guished military  men  mounted  on  preternaturally  prancing  steeds ; 
I  and,  near  the  door,  a  bran-new  blue  wagon  and  a  crimson  plough 
showed  the  activity  of  the  trade. 
I        As  may  readily  be  conjectured,  this  mart  of  custom  was  not 
!  without  its  due  proportion  of  that  industrious,  thriving  and  repu- 
i  table  class  of  comers  who  laudably  devote  their  energies  to  dispu- 
'  tation,  loud  swearing,  bets  and  whisky, — a  class  which,  to  the 


360  A    JOUST    AT    UTTERANCE. 


^1 


0i 


U 


% 


glory  of  our  land,  is  surprisingly  rife  in  every  country  side.  • 
Some  six  or  seven  of  these  worthies  were  congregated  on  the  rail  i 
of  the  piazza,  which  extended  across  the  front  of  the  store,  like  so  • 
many  strange  fowls  roosting  along  a  pole.  The  length  of  our  t 
previous  ride  and  the  heat  of  the  day  made  it  necessary  that  we ! 
should  stop  here  for  a  short  time  to  get  water  for  our  horses.  | 
We  accordingly  dismounted.  .  < 

Fairbourne  excited  the  curiosity  of  the  inhabitants  of  thai 
porch;  and  Ned,  who  seemed  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  per-; 
sons  about  him,  answered  their  many  questions  with  his  custom-- 
ary  good-humor.     During  this  brief  intercourse,  one  of  the  party 
approached  with  a  swaggering  step,  and  began  to  pry,  with  rathcp|    ^'^ 
an  obtrusive  familiarity,  into  the  odd  equipment  of  the  hawLi    U 
His  air  was  that  of  a  shabby  gentleman :  He  had  an  immense! 
pair  of  whiskers,  a  dirty  shirt,  and  a  coat  that  might  be  said  tci 
be  on  its  last  legs;  but  this,  however,  was  buttoned  at  the  waist i  fpeth 
with  a  certain  spruce  and  conceited  effect.     As  Ned  held  th< 
bird  upon  his  hand,  this  complacent  gentleman  brought  himsel:;     ill 
into  a  rather   troublesome   contact,  and   finall}'^  threw   his  arn' 
across  Hazard's  shoulder.     Ned,  at  first,  gently  repelled  him,  bu' 
as  the  other  still  intruded  upon  him,  and  placed  himself  again  ir 
the  same  situation — 

'•  Softly,  Mr.  Rutherford  !"  he  said,  slipping  away  from  be 
neath  the  extended  arm ;  "  you  will  excuse  me,  but  I  am  avers< 
to  bearing  such  a  burden." 

"  You  are  more  nice  than  neighborly,  Ned  Hazard,"  replieci 
the  other,  stiffly  erecting  his  person.  "  I  think  I  can  reraembei| 
a  time  when  even  you,  sir,  would  not  have  found  me  burdensome  ] 
that  time  may  come  again." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit,"  rejoined  Ned,  "  of  arguing  the  righ 
to  shake  off  whatever  annoys  me." 

"  Aye,  aye  !"  said   the  other,  walking  to  the  opposite  end  O' 


A    JOUST    AT    UTTERANCE.  361 

the  porch.     '•  There  arc  dogs  enough  to  bark  at  the  wounded 

lion,  that  dare  not  look  him  in  the  face  when  he  is  in  health.     It 

is  easy  enough  to  learn,  as  the  world  goes,  what  is  likely  to  annoy 

ia  fair-weather  friend.     Honesty  is  of  the  tailor's  making — " 

1       These  and  many  other  expressions  of  the  like  import  were 

;  muttered  sullenly  by  the  speaker,  with   such  glances  towards 

Hazard  as  indicated  the  deep  offence  he  had  taken  at  the  rebuke 

jjust  given. 

This  man  had  been  originally  educated  in  liberal  studies,  and 
had  commenced .  his  career  not  without  some  character  in  the 
country,  but  had  fallen  into  disgrace  through  vicious  habits. 
An  unfortunate  reputation  for  brilliant  talents,  in  early  life,  had 
misled  him  into  the  belief  that  the  care  by  which  a  good  naine  is 
iwon  and  preserved  is  a  useless  virtue,  and  that  self-control  is  a 
|tax  which  only  men  of  inferior  parts  pay  for  success.  This  de- 
ilusion  brought  about  the  usual  penalties ;  first,  disappointment, 
Ithen  debauch,  and  after  that,  in  a  natural  sequence,  the  total 
jwreck  of  worldly  hopes  : — a  brief  history  which  is  often  told  of 
Imen,  and  varied  only  in  the  subordinate  incidents  which  color  the 
jeommon  outline, 

j  Rutherford  still  retained,  (as  it  generally  happens  to  a  vain 
iman.)  unimpaired  by  the  severe  judgment  of  the  world,  his  origi- 
jnal  exaggerated  opinion  of  the  extent  of  his  abilities  ;  but,  having 
llost  the  occasions  for  their  display,  he  became  noted  only  by  a 
domineering  temper,  a  boastful  spirit,  a  supreme  hatred  of  those 
in  better  circumstances  than  himself,  and,  sometimes,  by  excessive 
and  ferocious  intemperance.     • 

His  conduct  on  the  present  occasion  passed  unheeded.  Haz- 
ard had  no  disposition  to  embroil  himself  with  a  man  of  this 
description,  and  therefore  made  no  reply  to  these  muttered  over- 
flowings of  his  spleen. 

"  I  have  seen  your  bird  before,  Mr.  Ned  Hazard,"  said  a  plain 


Ills: 


ik 


362  A   JOUST    AT    UTTERANCE. 

countrymaiij  who  sat  without  a  coat  on  the  bench  of  the  piazza.  mF 
"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  that  hawk  belonged  to  one  of  Mr.  Tracy's  m^ 
daughters,  over  here  at  the  Brakes." 

"  It  did,"  replied  Ned ;  "  she  has  nursed  it  with  her  own 
hand."  j 

"Well,  I  have  been  studying,"  said  another,  "  ever  since  youj 
came  here,  to  find  out  what  all  these  things  are  stuck  about  its 
legs  for.     It  is  the  most  unaccountablest  thing  to  me  !  I  don't 
consider  one  of  these  here  hawks  no  more  than  vermin.     What 
is  it  good  for,  Mr.  Hazard,  any  how?" 

"  Indeed,  I  declare  I  can't  exactly  tell,"  answered  Ned.  "  In 
the  old  time  they  kept  hawks  pretty  much  as  we  keep  hounds,— ^ 
to  hunt  game  with."  't  j. 

"  Oh,  they  are  amazing  swift,  and  desperate  wicked, — that'nj 
a  fact !"  said  the  first  speaker.  "  Did  you  never  see  how  spitefal 
these  little  king-birds  take  after  and  worry  a  crow  ?     They  are  v 

sort  of  hawks  too — " 

I 

"  Many's  the  time,"  said  another  of  the  company,  "  that  I  hav<; 
known  how  to  follow  a  fox  from  looking  at  the  crows  tracking 
him  across  a  field ;  and  I  have  seen  hawks  take  after  vermin  jus.) 
in  the  same  way." 

"  But  what  is  the  use,"  asked  the  second  speaker  again,  ^d 
these  here  silver  rings  ?  and  here  are  words  on  one  of  them,  tofi 
Let  me  see, — '  I  live — in  my  lady's — grace,' "  he  continuedi 
straining  his  sight  to  make  out  the  legend.  ! 

Rutherford  had  now  approached  to  the  skirts  of  the  grouji 
and  stood  leaning  against  the  balustrade  of  the  porch,  with  a 
unsocial  and  vexed  air,  as  if  disposed  to  take  advantage  of  wha' 
ever  might  occur  to  vent  his  feelings. 

"  My  lady's  grace  !"  said  he,  tartly,  "  My  lady's   grace  I  ; 
suppose  we  shall  hear  of  my  lord's  grace,  too,  before  long  !     Thert  '  jin} 
arc  some  among  us  who,  if  they  durst  do  it,  would  carry  the !    ^ii 


lii 


p 


m 
Hot 


A    JOUST    AT    UTTKllANCi:.  303 

eads  high  enough  for  such  a  title.     If  that  stark  old  English 
Dry,  Isaac  Tracy,  of  the  Brakes, — as  he  calls  himself — " 

"  Miles  Rutherford,"  interrupted  Hazard,  angrily,  "  look  to 
oursclf,  sir  !  I  am  not  disposed  to  put  up  with  your  moody 
umor.  Do  not  give  me  cause  to  repent  my  forbearance  in  not 
junishing  your  insolence  at  its  first  outbreak." 

"A  better  man  than  you,  Ned  Hazard,"  said  the  other, 
.proudly  as  you  choose  to  bear  yourself,  might  have  cause  to 
3pent  his  rashness  in  making  such  a  threat.  Insolence,  do  you 
ill  it,  sir  !  Take  care  that  I  do  not  teach  you  better  to  know 
ho  I  am  !" 

"  I  know  you  already,"  replied  Ned,  "  for  a  brawling  bully — a 
iisturber  of  the  common  peace — a  noisy  churl — a  nuisance,  sir, 
p  the  whole  country  round." 
j    "  I  know  you,"  said  Hutherford. 

"  Silence  !"  cried  Ned  ;  "  Not  another  word  from  your  lips, 
r,  by  my  life  !  unworthy  as  you  are  of  the  notice  of  a  gentleman, 
will  take  the  pains  to  chastise  you  here  upon  this  spot." 
i  "  Good  gentlemen  !  Good  gentlemen  !  Mercy  on  us  !  Stop 
[lem  I"  exclaimed  our  old  acquaintance,  Hafen  Blok,  who,  until 
his  moment,  had  been  seated  in  the  store,  and  now  came  limping 
3  the  porch,  on  having  recognized  Hazard's  voice.  "  For  God's 
ake,  Mr.  Ned  Hazard,  don't  put  yourself  in  the  way  of  Miles 
llutherford  !  Take  a  fool's  advice.  Mister  Edward,"  he  continued, 
'oming  TT-p  to  Ned,  and  holding  him  by  the  coat :  "  It  isn't  fit  for 
juch  as  you  to  concern  yourself  with  Miles  Rutherford  ;  the  man's 
|alf  in  liquor,  and  of  no  account  if  he  wasn't." 
I  Several  others  of  the  company  crowded  round  Hazard  to  beg 
im  not  to  be  disturbed  by  his  antagonist.  In  the  mean  time 
lutherford  had  worked  himself  up  to  a  pitch  of  fury,  and,  spring- 
ing over  the  balustrade  upon  the  ground,  he  took  a  station  in 
jront  of  the  house,  where,  vociferating  in  his  wrath  a  hundred 


364  A   JOUST    AT   UTTERANCE.  y 

opprobrious  epithets,  he  challenged  Hazard  to  come  out  of  th(' 
crowd  if  he  dared  to  face  him. 

I  interposed  to  remind  Hazard  that  he  should  restrain  hif- 
anger,  nor  think  of  matching  himself  with  such  an  enemy.  H( 
listened  calmly  to  my  remonstrance,  and  then  laughing,  as  i: 
nothing  had  occurred  to  ruffle  his  temper,  though  it  was  manifesi; 
that  he  was  much  flurried,  he  remarked  in  a  tone  of  assumec 
good  humor, — 

"  You  mistake  if  you  imagine  this  ruffian  moves  me ;  but  stil  • 
I  think  it  would  be  doing  a  public  service  if  I  were  to  give  him  t 
sound  threshing  here  on  his  own  terms."  i 

"  Don't  think  of  such  a  thing,  Mister  Edward  1"  said  Hafen , 
"  you  are  not  used  to  such  as  Miles.  He  is  close  built,  and  abovr 
fourteen  stone.     You  are  hardly  a  feather  to  him."  i 

"  You  underrate  me,  Hafen,"  replied  Ned,  smiling,  "  and  ? 
have  a  mind  to  show  you  that  weight  is  not  so  great  a  matter  a; 
a  good  hand." 

"  You  are  bold  to  speak  amongst  your  cronies,"  said  Rutherj 
ford.  "  You  can  make  a  party  if  you  can't  fight.  But  I  shal' 
take  the  first  opportunity,  when  I  meet  you  alone,  to  let  you  knoT 
that  when  I  choose  to  speak  my  mind  of  such  hoary-hcadct' 
traitors  as  old  Isaac  Tracy,  I  will  not  be  schooled  into  silence  h] 
you."  ' 

At  these  words  Hazard  turned  quickly  round  to  me,  and  whisi 
pered  in  my  ear,  with  more  agitation  of  manner  than  was  usua : 
to  him,  "  I  will  indulge  this  braggart ;  so,  pray  don't  interrup  Wkp 
me.  You  need  not  be  anxious  as  to  the  result ;"  then,  speaking 
to  the  assemblage  of  persons  who  surrounded  him,  he  said,  "  No^j 
my  good  friends,  I  want  you  to  see  fair  play,  and  on  no  accoun ' 
to  interfere  with  me  as  long  as  I  have  it."  j 

With  this  he  left  the  porch,  and  stepping  out  upon  the  grouni 
where  Rutherford  stood,  he  told  him  that  he  would  save  him  th<j 


I  A    .lOlJ.ST    AT    UTTERANCK.  3(J5 

I 

trouble  of  any  future  meeting,  by  giving  him  now  what  he  stood 
specially  in  need  of, — a  hearty  flogging. 

j     Rutherford   in  a  moment   threw  off  his    roat.     Ned  coolly 

jtuttoned  his  frock  up  to  the  chin. 

"  Good  Lord,  preserve  us  !"  exclaimed  Ilafen  Blok  again — 

1  Mr.  Hazard's  gone  crazy  !     Why,  Miles  E-utherford  ought  to 

jaanage  two  of  him." 

'•  I  can  tell  you  what,"  said  one  of  the  lookers-on,  after  survey- 

ng  Ned  for  a  moment,  "  Ned  Hazard's  a  pretty  hard  horse  to  ride, 

00 ;  only  look  at  his  eye, — how  natural  it  is  !" 

By  this  time  the  two  combatants  had  taken  their  respective 

)Ositions.  Ned  stood  upon  a  practised  guard,  closely  eyeing  his 
imtagonist,  and  waiting  the  first  favorable  moment  to  deal  a  blow 
fvith  effect.  It  was  easy  to  perceive  that,  amongst  his  various  ac- 
pomplishments,  he  had  not  neglected  to  acquire  the  principles  of 
bugilism.  Rutherford's  figure  was  muscular  and  active;  and, 
l;o  all  appearance,  the  odds  were  certainly  very  much  in  his  fa- 
|/or.  Not  a  word  was  spoken,  and  an  intense  interest  was  mani- 
fested by  the  whole  assembly  as  to  the  issue  of  this  singular 
bncounter. 

During  the  first  onset  Ned  acted  entirely  on  the  defensive, 
and  parried  his  opponent's  blows  with  complete  success.  In  the 
next  moment  he  changed  the  character  of  the  war,  and  pressed 
upon  Rutherford  with  such  science  and  effect,  as  very  soon  to 
demonstrate  that  he  had  the  entire  command  of  the  game.  From 
this  period  the  contest  assumed,  on  the  part  of  Hazard,  a  cheerful 
aspect.  He  struck  his  blows  with  a  countenance  of  so  much 
gayety,  that  a  spectator  would  have  imagined  he  buffeted  his 
adversary  in  mere  sport,  were  it  not  for  the  blood  that  streamed 
down  Rutherford's  face,  and  the  dogged  earnestness  that  sat  upon 
the  brow  of  the  belabored  man.  Wilful  seemed  to  take  a  great 
interest  in  the  affray,  and  curveted  around  the  parties,  barking, 


366  A    JOUST    AT    UTTERANCE. 

sometimes  violently,  and  springing  towards  his  master's  opponeii' 
On  such  occasions  Ned  called  out  to  him,  "with  the  utmost  con 
posure,  and  ordered  him  away,  but  without  the  least  interruptia 
to  his  employment ;  and  Wilful,  as  if  assured  by  his  master's  coc 
tone  of  voice,  yielded  instant  obedience  to  the  mandate,  and  too 
his  place  amongst  the  by-standers. 

For  the  space  of  two  or  three  minutes  nothing  was  heard  bi 
the  sullen  sound  of  lusty  blows,  planted  with  admirable  adroitneE 
on  the  breast  and  face  of  Miles  Rutherford,  whose  blows  in  retur . 
were  blindly  and  awkwardly  spent  upon  the  air.  At  last,  it' 
furious  bully,  worn  down  by  abortive  displays  of  strength,  an 
perplexed  by  the  vigorous  assaults  of  his  enemy,  began  to  gi^ , 
ground  and  show  signs  of  discomfiture.  Ned,  as  fresh  almost  i 
at  first,  now  pressed  more  severely  upon  him,  and,  with  one  deci 
sive  stroke,  prostrated  him  upon  the  earth. 

At  this  incident  a  shout  arose  from  the  crowd,  and  every  oii 
eagerly  interceded  to  exhort  Ned  to  spare  his  adversary  farth< 
pain.     Ned  stepped  a  pace  back,  as  he  looked  upon  his  recumbei, 
foe,  and  composedly  said —  ' 

"  I  will  not  strike  him  whilst  he  is  down.  But  if  he  wishv 
to  renew  the  battle,  I  will  allow  him  to  get  upon  his  legs, — ar 
he  shall  even  have  time  to  breathe." 

Rutherford  slowly  got  up ;  and,  without  again  placing  hims€' 
in  an  attitude  of  offence,  began  to  vent  his  displeasure  in  wiv 
and  profane  execrations.  Several  of  the  persons  nearest  toe; 
hold  of  him,  as  if  with  a  purpose  to  expostulate  against  his  furthtj 
prosecution  of  the  fight ;  but  this  restraint  only  made  him  tl. 
more  frantic.  In  the  midst  of  this  uproar,  Ned  again  approachc 
him,  saying,  "  Miles  Rutherford,  it  little  becomes  you  as  a  mt, 
to  be  unburthening  your  malice  in  words.  We  have  come  i 
blows,  and  if  you  are  not  yet  satisfied  with  the  issue  of  th 
meeting,  I  pledge  you  a  fair  field,  and  as  much  of  this  game  i 
you  have  a  relish  for.     Let  the  crowd  stand  back  !" 


A    JOUST   AT    UTTERANCE.  367 

After  looking  a  moment  at  Hazard  in  profound  silence, 
Rutherford's  discretion  seemed  suddenly  to  sway  his  courage ; 
and,  dropping  his  arms  by  his  side  in  token  of  defeat,  he  mut- 
tered, in  a  smothered  and  confused  voice,  •'  It's  no  use,  Ned 
I  Hazard,  for  me  to  strike  at  you.  You  have  had  the  advantage 
i  of  training." 

"  You  should  have  counted  the  cost  of  your  insolence,"  replied 
Ned,  '•  before  you  indulged  it.  The  tongue  of  a  braggart  is 
always  more  apt  than  his  hand,"  he  continued,  taking  a  white 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  and  wiping  his  brow,  and,  at  the 
same  time  unbuttoning  his  coat  and  adjusting  his  dress.  "  You 
have  disturbed  the  country  with  your  quarrelsome  humors  long 
enough  ;  so  take  the  lesson  you  have  got  to-day,  and  profit  by  it. 
Hafen,  get  me  some  water ;  my  hands  are  bloody." 

At  this  instant  the  group  of  amused  and  gratified  spectators 
mingled  promiscuously  together,  and  made  the  welkin  ring  with 
cheers  of  triumph  and  exultation. 

"  That  I  should  have  lived  to  see  such  a  thing  as  this  !" 
vociferated  Hafen,  as  he  went  to  get  the  water.  '-  Didn't  I 
always  say  Mister  Ned  Hazard  was  the  very  best  bottom  in  the 
country !" 

"  I  fight  fair,"  murmured  Miles  Kutherford,  as  if  struggling 
under  the  rebuke  of  the  company,  and  endeavoring  to  make  the 
best  of  his  situation,  '•  but  I  am  not  conquered.  Another  time — 
by  hell ! — another  time !  and  Ned  Hazard  shall  rue  this  day. 
That  proud  coxcomb  has  practised  the  art  and  strikes  backhanded. 
The  devil  could  not  parry  such  blows." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?"  asked  Ned. 

'•  Miles,  you  are  beaten  !"  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  voices, 
'•  and  you  can't  make  any  thing  else  out  of  it.  So  be  off!"  saying 
this,  several  individuals  gathered  round  him  to  persuade  him  to 
leave  the  ground. 

"  It  is  immaterial,"  said  Miles  ;  and  taking  up  his  coat  from 


368  A    JOUST    AT    UTTERANCir. 

the  ground,  he  walked  towards  the  neighboring  dwellings  in  a  sad- 
and  confused  plight. 

"  I  am  a  fool,"  said  Hazard  in  my  ear,  "  to  permit  myself  tc 
be  ruffled  by  this  scoundrel ;  but  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  have 
taken  advantage  of  my  anger  to  give  him  what  he  has  long 
deserved." 

Ned  now  began  gradually  to  recover  his  gayety,  and,  after  £  ■ 
short  space,  having  washed  his  hands  and  recruited  himself  fron 
the  severe  toil  in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  he  took  Fairbourne  • 
from  one  of  the  crowd,  to  whom  the  charge  of  the  bird  had  beet! 
committed,  and  we  mounted  our  horses  amidst  the  congratulations ' 
of  the  whole  hamlet  for  the  salutary  discipline  which  Ned  haoj 
inflicted  upon  his  splenetic  antagonist.  > 

In  less  than  an  hour  we  regained  Swallow  Barn  :  returning! 
like  knights  to  a  bannered  castle  from  a  successful  inroad,—! 
flushed  with  heat  and  victory, — covered  with  dust  and  glory  ! 
our  enemies  subdued  and  our  lady's  pledge  redeemed.  < 


h 


hi 

h 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


MOONSHINE. 


[e  were  too  much  elated  with  having  achieved  the  recapture  of 
le  hawk,  to  postpone  the  communication  of  our  good  fortune  to 
ke  family  at  The  Brakes  longer  than  our  necessary  refreshment 
pquired ;  and  accordingly,  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  hav- 
ig  then  finished  a  hearty  dinner,  and  regained  our  wasted 
;rength,  we  were  on  our  way  to  the  habitation  of  our  neighbors. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  rapid  succession  of  scenes,  through 
hich  we  had  past  during  the  forepart  of  the  day,  and  the  vivid 
incitements  we  had  experienced,  had  now  given  place  to  a  calmer 
lad  more  satisfied  state  of  feeling;  or  whether  it  arose  only  from 
bme  remaining  sense  of  fatigue  from  previous  toil,  our  present 
jnpulse  was  to  be  silent.  For  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
'e  trotted  along  the  road  with  nothing  to  interrupt  our  musings 
iut  the  breeze  as  it  rustled  through  the  wood,  the  screams  of  the 
|iy-bird,  or  the  tramp  of  our  horses.  At  length  Ned,  waking  up 
13  from  a  reverie,  turned  to  me  and  said — 

"  Mark  !  not  a  word  about  that  fight  to-day." 

"  Truly,  you  speak  with  a  discreet  gravity,"  said  I.     "  What 
I'ould  you  have  ?" 

j    "  Not  the  slightest  hint  that  shall  lead  Bel  Tracy  to  suspect 
!  have  had  a  quarrel  with  Miles  Rutherford." 


370  MOONSHINE. 

"  I  pity  you,  Ned,"  said  I,  laughing.  "  Out,  hyperbolica- 
fiend  !  why  vexest  thou  this  man  ?" 

"  Ah  !"  replied  Ned,"  that  is  the  curse  of  the  star  I  was  hor  \ 
under.  The  most  innocent  actions  of  my  life  will  bear  a  readin 
that  may  turn  them^  in  Bel  Tracy's  judgment,  into  abiding  topic; 
of  reproof.  I  dread  the  very  thought  that  Bel  should  hear  c 
this  quarrel.  She  will  say — -as  she  always  says — that  I  have  dn 
scended  from  my  proper  elevation  of  character.  I  wish  I  had 
hornbook  of  gentility  to  go  by  !  It  never  once  occurred  to  ni 
when  I  was  chastising  that  blackguard,  that  I  was  throwing  asid' 
the  gentleman.     My  convictions  always  come  too  late." 

"  Why,  what  a  crotchet  is  this  !"  said  I.  "  To  my  thinkinij 
you  strangely  misapprehend  your  mistress,  Ned,  when  you  fane- 
she  could  take  offence  at  hearing  that  you  had  punished  an  ins ! 
lent  fellow  for  reviling  her  father." 

"It  is  the  manner  of  the  thing,  Mark,"  replied  Ned.  "Tl' 
idea  that  I  had  gone  into  a  vulgar  ring  of  clowns,  and  soiled  rr; 
hands  in  a  rough-and-tumble  struggle  with  a  strolling  bull; 
Now  if  I  had  encountered  an  unknown  ruffian  in  the  woods,  wil: 
sword  and  lance,  on  horseback,  and  had  had  my  weapon  shiverc 
in  my  hand,  and  then  been  trussed  upon  a  pole  ten  feet  long,-: 
Gad,  I  believe  she  would  be  thrown  into  transports  ! — that  wou;; 
be  romance  for  her ;  it  would  be  a  glorious  feat  of  arms ;  and,!, 
doubt  not,  she  would  attend  me  in  my  illness,  like  the  king 
daughter  in  the  ballad, — the  most  bewitching  of  leeches!  Bi 
to  be  pommeled  black  and  blue,  with  that  plebeian  instrument  j 
fist — pugh  ! — she  will  turn  up  her  nose  at  it  with  a  magnificei" 
disdain.  Do  you  sec  any  traces  of  the  fight  about  me  ?  have , 
any  scar  or  scratch?  do  you  think  I  may  pass  unquestioned?"  \ 

"  You  may  thank  your  skill  in  this  vulgar  accomplishment! 
I  answered,  "  tliat  you  do  not  carry  a  black  eye  to  The  Brake  | 
As  it  is,  you  have  nothing  to  fear  on  that  score ;  and,  I  promi! 


MOONSHINE.  371 

tou,  although  I  doubt  your  apprehension  of  13cl,  that  I  will  say 

'lothing  that  shall  lead  to  your  detection." 

"  This  is  only  of  a  piece  with  my  other  miseries,"  said  he. 

\  It  is  another  proof  of  the  tyranny  to  which  a  man  is  exposed 

iVho  is  obliged  to  square  his  conduct  to  the  caprices  of  a  mistress. 

[  declare  to  you  I  feel,  at  this  moment,  like  a  schoolboy  who  is 

jompelled  to  rack  his  wits  for  some  plausible  lie  to  escape  a 

shipping." 

"  Truly,  Ned,  you  are  a  most  ridiculous  lover,"  said  I.     '•  Of 
j;  dl  men  I  ever  knew,  I  certainly  never  saw  one  who  took  so  little 

irouble  to  square  his  conduct  to  any  rule.     This  is  the  merest 

arce  that  ever  was  acted.     Little  does  Bel  suspect  that  she  has 

n  her  train  such  a  trembling  slave.     Why,  sir,  it  is  the  perpetual 
m  ^urthen  of  her  complaint  that  your  recklessness  of  her  rises  to 

he  most  flagrant  contumacy :  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  think 
y  3he  has  reason  on  her  side." 

|,  "  Well,  well !"  said  Ned,  laughing,  "  be  that  as  it  may ;  say 
/  lothing  about  the  feat  to-day,  because,  in  sober  earnest,  I  am  not 
.  i;[uite  satisfied  with  the  exploit  myself.  I  certainly  was  under  no 
.,  bbligation  to  drub  that  rascal  Rutherford." 

In  the  discussion  of  this  topic  we  arrived  at  The  Brakes, 

Tfhere  both  joy  and  surprise  were  manifested  at  finding  Fair- 
:  bourne  brought  back  in  fetters  to  his  prison.     Harvey  Biggs 

flapped  his  hands  and  called  out  '•  Bravo  !  Well  done  Hazard  ! 
.  Did'nt  I  say,  Bel,  that  Ned  would  perform  as  many  wonders  as 

the  seven  champions  altogether?     Is  there  such  another  true 

knight  in  the  land  ?" 

J  As  for  Bel,  she  was  raised  into  the  loftiest  transports.  She 
laughed, — asked  !i  thousand  questions, — darted  from  place  to 
jplace,  and  taking  Fairbourne  in  her  hand,  smoothed  his  feathers, 
jind  kissed  him  over  and  over  again.  The  rest  of  the  family 
joined  in  similar  expressions  of  pleasure,  and  Ned  gave  a  circum- 


372  MOONSHINE.  , 

I 

stantial  detail  of  all  the  facts  attending  the  recovery,  carefully  j 
omitting  the  least  allusion  to  the  affair  that  followed  it.  Wheu^ 
this  was  done,  Harvey  again  heaped  a  torrent  of  applause  uponj 
the  Knight  of  the  Hawk,  as  he  called  Hazard,  and  with  a  lively] 
sally  sang  out,  in  a  cracked  and  discordant  voice, —  l 

"  Oh,  'tis  love,  'tis  love,  'tis  love,  that  rules  us  all  completely,  j 

Oh,  'tis  love,  'tis  love,  'tis  love  commands,  and  we  obey — " 

— which  he  concluded  with  sundry  antics,  and  danced  out  of  the', 
room.  Bel,  upon  hearing  the  part  that  Wilful  acted  in  the  re-j 
capture,  declared  that  she  would  take  him  into  high  favor,  and' 
that  thenceforth  he  should  have  the  freedom  of  the  parlor  ;  say-j 
ing  this,  she  patted  him  upon  the  back,  and  made  him  lie  dowiH 
at  her  feet.  I 

"  Hey  day  !  this  is  a  fine  rout  and  pother  about  a  vagabond | 
bird  !"  said  Mr.  Tracy.  "Will  you  lose  your  senses,  good  folks  i 
Mr,  Edward,  you  see  what  it  is  to  gather  toys  for  these  women! 
You  have  made  Bel  your  slave  for  life."       '  ; 

Bel  blushed  scarlet  red  at  this  intimation ;  and  Ned  observ-j 
ing  it,  followed  suit :  their  eyes  met.     A  precious  pair  of  fools 
to  make  so  much  of  so  small  a  thing ! 

Fairbourne  was  carried  to  his  perch,  and  regaled  with  a  meal  tj 
and  the  composure  of  the  family  being  restored,  after  the  conclui 
sion  of  this  important  affair,  we  sat  down  to  talk  upon  other  mat! 
ters.  Swansdown,  we  were  told,  had  taken  his  departure  aftei! 
breakfast.  Mr.  Tracy,  Harvey  assured  us,  had  been  in  his  stud}  I 
nearly  all  day,  conning  over  the  papers  of  the  arbitration.  "  Th(j 
old  gentleman,"  he  said,  "  was  not  altogether  satisfied  with  tbt 
award,  inasmuch  as  there  were  certain  particulars  of  fact  whicl 
he  conceived  to  be  misstated,  especially  in  regard  to  a  survey 
affirmed  to  be  made  of  the  mill-dam,  wliich  did  not  appear  in  hii- 
notes.     I  have  no  doubt,"  Harvey  added,  "  that  before  a  montl. 


^i 


liiifii 

iIeii 


ik 


m 


MOONSHINE.  373 

jiy  venerable  kinsman  will  be  in  absolute  grief  for  this  untimely 
htting  short  of  the  law-suit  in  the  vigor  of  its  days." 
:  Ned  sat  beside  Bel,  occupied  in  a  low,  tremulous,  and  earnest 
i)nversation,  until  the  stars  were  all  shining  bright,  and  even 
lien,  he  unwillingly  broke  his  colloquy  at  my  summons.  Our 
prses  had  been  waiting  at  the  door  for  the  last  hour. 

We  galloped  nearly  the  whole  way  back  to  Swallow  Barn ; 
j  ed  rapidly  leading  the  way,  and  striking  his  whip  at  the  bushes 
1  the  road  side,  whistling,  singing,  and  cutting  many  antics 
pon  his  saddle. 

"What  the  deuce  ails  you?"  I  called  out. 

"  I  feel  astonishingly  active  to-night,"  said  he.  "  I  could  do 
ich  deeds  !"  and  thereupon  he  put  his  horse  up  to  full  speed. 

"  The  man  is  possessed,"  said  I,  following,-  however,  at  the 
jime  gait. 

That  night  we  did  not  go  to  bed  until  the  moon  rose,  which 
i  think  the  almanac  will  show  to  have  been  near  one  o'clock. 


< 


m 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 


THE     LAST     MINSTREL. 


As  I  do  not  at  all  doubt  that  you,  my  dear  Zack,  have  by  thi 
time  become  deeply  interested  in  the  progress  of  Ned  Hazard'; 
love  affairs  ;  and  as  I  find,  (what  greatly  surprises  myself,)  thas 
Ned  has  grown  to  be  a  hero  in  my  story ;  and  that  I,  who  orig 
nally  began   to  write  only  a  few  desultory  sketches  of  the  01] 
Dominion,  have  unawares,  and  without  any  premeditated  purpos 
absolutely  fallen  into  a  regular  jog-trot,  novel-like  narrative, — i 
least,  for  several  consecutive  chapters, — it  is  no  more  than  wh 
I  owe  to  posterity  to  go  on  and  supply  such  matters  of  fact  i 
may  tend  to  the  elucidation  and  final  clearing  up  of  the  presei 
involved  and  uncertain  posture  into  which  I  have  brought  in. 
principal  actors.     Feeling  the  weight  of  this  obligation,  as  soo 
as  I  had  closed  the  last  chapter  I  began  to  bethink  me  of  tl 
best  means  of  compassing  my  end  ;  for,  like  a  true  historiogr 
pher,  I  conceived  it  to  be,  in  some  sort,  my  bounden  duty  to  r 
sort  to  the  best  sources  of  information  which  my  opportunitii 
afforded.     Now,  it  must  have  been  perceived  by  my  clear-sigh t(' 
readers,  that  I  am  already  largely  indebted  to   Harvey  Rig: 
for  the  faithful  report  of  such  matters  as  fell  out  at  the  Brak 
when  I  was  not  there  myself  to  note  them  down ;  and  I  therefo 
thought,  that  in  the  present  emergency  I  might,  with  great  pro: 


THE     LAST     MINSTIIKL.  375 

my  labor,  have  recourse  to  the  same  fountain  of  intelligence. 
L  this  I  do  but  imitate  and  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  all  the 
ustrious  chroniclers  of  the  world,  who  have  made  it  their  busi- 
ss  to  speak  primarily  of  what  they  themselves  have  seen  and 
lown,  and  secondarily,  to  take  at  second-hand,  (judiciously  pcr- 
nding  the  force  of  testimony.)  such  things  as  have  come  to 
em  by  hearsay :  for,  nothing  is  more  common  than  for  these 
ave  wights  to  introduce  into  their  books  some  of  their  weight- 
it  and  most  important  morsels  of  history  by  some  such  oblique 
sinuation  as  this ; — "  I  have  heard  people  say,"  or  "  the  re- 
(wned  Gregory  of  Tours,  or  William  of  Malmsbury,  or  John  of 
okes  affirms,"  or,  "  it  was  currently  reported  and  believed  at 

0  time," — or  some  such  preface,  by  which  they  let  in  the  neces- 
ry  matter.  Henceforth,  then,  let  it  be  understood,  that  as  I 
ofcss  to  speak  in  my  own  person  of  what  happened  at  Swallow 
irn,  so  I  rely  mainly  on  my  contemporary  Harvey,  as  authority 
Ir  all  such  synchronous  events  as  transpired  at  The  Brakes. 

ith  this  explanatory  advertisement,  I  proceed  with  my  story. 
I  have  described,  in  the  last  chapter,  the  unnatural  speed 
th  which  Hazard  and  myself  had  ridden  to  Swallow  Barn. 
el  too,  it  seems,  was  possessed  in  some  such  strange  mood  after 
3  were  gone  ;  for  she  moved  about  the  house  singing,  dancing. 
Iking  unconnectedly,  and  manifesting-^  many  unaccountable 
imors.  I  devoutly  believe  that  both  she  and  Hazard  were 
-'witched.  It  might  have  been  the  hawk, — or  some  other  little 
iimal  with  wings  on  his  shoulders. — But  I  leave  this  to  the 
)nsideration  of  the  Pundits,  and  pass  on  to  events  of  more  im- 
>rtance. 

We  had  not  left  the  Brakes  above  half  an  hour  when  the 
■raping  of  a  violin  was  heard  in  the  yard,  near  the  kitchen  door 
he  tune  was  that  of  a  popular  country-dance,  and  was  executed 

1  a  very  brisk  and  inspiring  cadence. 


376  THE     LAST     MINSTREL.  j 

•'  That  sounds  like  Hafen  Blok's  fiddle,"  said  Kalpb.     «£; 
has  come  here  for  his  supper,  and  we  shall  be  pestered  with  biy" 
nonsense  all  night." 

"  If  it  be  Hafen,"  said  Bel,  "  he  shall  be  well  treated,  for  tli 
poor  old  man  has  a  hard  time  in  this  world.  He  is  almost  tl 
only  minstrel,  cousin  Harvey,  that  is  left. 

" '  The  bigots  of  this  iron  time,  i 

Have  called  his  haiinless  art  a  crime.' 

"  And  truly,  I  wish  we  had  more  like  him  !  for,  Hafen  has- 
great  many  ballads  that,  I  assure  you,  will  compare  very  w( 
with  the  songs  of  the  troubadours  and  minnesingers." 

"There  you  go,"  cried  Harvey,  "with  your  age  of  chivalr 
I  don't  know  much  about  your  troubadours  and  minnesinger! 
but,  if  there  was  amongst  them  as  great  a  scoundrel  as  Hafen,  yo  ■ 
age  of  chivalry  was  an  arrant  cheat.  Why,  this  old  fellow  livj 
by  petty  larceny  ;  he  hasn't  the  dignity  of  a  large  thief :  he  is 
filcher  of  caps  and  napkins  from  a  washerwoman's  basket; 
robber  of  hen-roosts  ;  a  pocketer  of  tea-spoons  !  Now,  if  the! 
was  any  romance  in  him,  he  would,  at  least,  steal  cows  and  tai 
purses  on  the  highway."  ] 

"Pray,  cousin,"  exclaimed  Bel,  laughing,  "  do  not  utter  suj 
slanders  against  my  old  friend  Hafen  !  Here,  I  have  taken  i] 
greatest  trouble  in  the  world  to  get  me  a  minstrel.  I  have  ('! 
couraged  Hafen  to  learn  ditties,  and  he  has  even  composed  soii 
himself  at  my  bidding.  Once  I  gave  him  a  dress  which  yj 
would  have  laughed  to  see.  It  was  made  after  the  most  approTl 
ftishion  of  minstrelsy.  First,  there  was  a  long  gown  of  Kent; 
green,  gathered  at  the  neck  with  a  narrow  gorget ;  it  had  sto' 
that  hung  as  low  as  the  knee,  slit  from  the  shoulder  to  the  ha  i 
and  lined  with  white  cotton;  a  doublet  with  sleeves  of  bla' 
worsted  ;  upon  these  a  pair  of  points  of  tawny  camlet,  laced  alo 


■Rai 

ilk 


k 


THE     LAST     MINSTREL.  377 

1 1  wrist  with  blue  thread  points,  with  a  welt  towards  the  hand, 
iide  of  fustian  ;  a  pair  of  red  stockings  ;  a  red  girdle,  with  a 
kife  stuck  in  it ;  and,  around  his  neck,  a  red  riband,  suitable  to 
t  girdle.  Now  what  do  you  think,  cousin,  of  such  a  dress  as 
t  ,t  ?" 
"  Where  did  you  get  the  idea  of  this  trumpery  ?"  cried  H«.r- 

v. 

"It  is  faithfully  taken,"  said  Bel,  "from  the  exact  description 
0  the  minstrel's  dress,  as  detailed  by  Lanehara,  in  his  account 
0  the  entertainment  of  Queen  Elizabeth  at  '  Killingworth  Cas- 
t,'" 

«  And  did  Hafen  put  it  on  ?" 

i  "  To  be  sure  he  did  !"  replied  Bel,  "  and  paraded  about  with 
ijiere  a  whole  evening." 

'•  Bel,"  said  Harvey,  after  a  loud  laugh, — "  I  like  your  non- 
slise :  it  is  so  sublimated  and  refined,  and  double-distilled,  that, 
ipn  my  soul,  I  think  it  throws  a  shabby  air  over  all  other  folly 
Iliver  saw  !  Minstrel  Blok,  Hawk  Fairbourne,  and  Childe  Ned, 
Ijagon-killing  Ned,  are  altogether  without  a  parallel  or  a  copy 
ilthe  whole  world.  A  precious  train  for  a  lady  !  And  sq  Ha- 
ft has  been  learning  ballads,  too  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  returned  Bel,  "  I  have  taken  the  trouble  to  get 
lin  some  very  authentic  collections.  Now,  what  do  you  think 
c '  the  Golden  Garland  of  Princely  Delights  V  that  is  an  old 
Ipk  I  gave  him  to  learn  some  songs  from,  and  the  wretch  lost  it, 
\)thout  learning  one  single  sonnet." 

"  Go*od  reason  why,"  said  Balph ; — "  he  never  could  read." 

"  I  didn't  know  that,  Kalph,  when  I  gave  it  to  him,"   said 

1.  "  But  Hafen  has  an  excellent  memory.  Hark !  he  is 
Iginning  to  sing  now.  Listen,  cousin,  and  3-ou  will  hear  some- 
ting  to  surprise  you." 

At  this  moment,  Hafcn's  voice  was  heard  commencing  a  stave. 


378  THE     LAST     MINSTREL. 

with  a  nasal  tone,  in  a  monotonous,  but  quick  tune,  whicli  acco 
panied  words  that  were  uttered  with  a  very  distinct  articu! 
tion. 

"  Let  us  have  this  in  the  porch,"  said  Harvey  ;  and  he  imu 
diately  led  the  way  to  the  hack-door  ;  where  Hafen  being  callil 
took  his  seat  and  recommenced  his  song  as  follows: — 


"  November  the  fourth,  in  the  year  ninety-one, 
We  had  a  sore  engagement  near  to  Fort  Jefferson. 
St.  Clair  was  oui*  commander,  which  may  remembered  be. 
For  there  we  left  nine  hundred  men,  in  the  Western  Territoiy 
Our  militia  was  attackted,  just  as  the  day  did  break ; 
And  soon  were  overpowered  and  forced  to  retreat. 
They  killed  Major  Ouldham,  Levin  and  Briggs  likewise. 
With  horrid  yells  of  savages  resoimded  thorough  the  skies ; 
Major  Butler  was  wounded,  the  very  second  fire — " 


"  Well,  that  will  do,  Hafen,"  interrupted  Harvey  ;  "  we  d( 
like  such  a  bloody  song  as  this;  it  is  the  very  essence  of  h- 
gedy."  j 

'•  It's  as  true  as  preaching,  Mister  Riggs,"  said  Hafen.  I 
was  there  myself,  in  Colonel  Gibson's  regiment."  i 

"  No  doubt !"  replied  Harvey.  "  But  Miss  Tracy  walB 
something  more  sentimental,  Hafen  ;  this  butchering  of  mi)  a 
men  does  not  suit  the  ladies  so  well  as  a  touching,  sorrov  1 
song." 

"  Ay,  ay  !"  said  Hafen,  "  I  understand  you,  Mister  Hanf. 
I  have  just  the  sort  of  song  to  please  Miss  Isabel.  It  goe;0 
the  tune  of '  "William  Keilly.' 

"  '  While  I  rehearse  ray  story,  Americans  give  ear, 
Of  Britain's  fading  glory,  you  presently  sliall  hear ; 
I'll  give  a  true  relation,  attend  to  what  I  say, 
Concerning  the  taxation  of  North  America. 


I 


!  THE     LAST     MINSTREL.  379 

"  There  is  a  wealthy  people  who  sojoiiru  in  that  land, 
Their  churches  all  with  steeples  most  delicately  stand, 
t  Tlieir  houses,  like  the  hly,  are  painted  red  and  gay ; 

They  flourish  like  the  gilly  in  North  America.' " 

"  Poh  !  this  is  worse  than  the  other !"  exclaimed  Harvey. 
'  Do  you  call  this  sentimental  ?  Why  don't  you  give  us  some- 
:hing  pitiful?  Bel,  your  minstrel  is  as  badly  trained  as  your 
lawk." 

"  Hafen,"  said  Bel,  "  I  fear  you  have  not  thought  of  me  lately, 
Dr  you  would  have  brought  me  something  more  to  my  liking  than 
these  songs." 

"  Bless  your  young  heart,  mistress  !"  replied  Hafen,  "  I  can 
jsing  fifty  things  that  you'd  like  to  hear,  in  the  love  line  :  There's 
j'  the  Manhattan  Tragedy,'  and  '  the  Royal  Factor's  Garland,'  and 
r  the  Golden  Bull,'  and  '  the  Prodigal  Daughter,'  and  '  Jemmy 
land  Nancy,'  commonly  called  the  Yarmouth  Tragedy,  showing 
how,  by  the  avariciousness  and  cruelty  of  parents,  two  faithful 
jlovyers  were  destroyed :  and  there's  '  the  Gosport  Tragedy,'  that 
jshows  how  a  young  damsel  was  led  astray  by  a  ship's  carpenter, 
land  carried  into  a  lonesome  wood  ;  and  how  her  ghost  haunted 
jhim  at  sea  ; — 

" '  When  he  immediantly  fell  on  his  knees, 

And  the  blood  in  his  veins  with  horror  did  freeze.'  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Harvey,  "  stop  there ;  we  don't  wish 
to  hear  the  music.  Go  get  your  supper,  Hafen ;  the  servants 
are  waiting  for  you.  These  are  entirely  too  sentimental ;  you 
run  into  extremes."  Hafen  obeyed  the  order ;  and,  as  he  limped 
towards  the  kitchen,  Harvey  remarked  to  Bel, "  This  is  a  fiue 
smack  of  war  and  love  that  Hafen  has  favored  us  with ; — 

"  '  The  last  of  all  the  bards  was  he 
Who  sang  of  Border  Chivalrv.' 


n 


i 


380  THE     LAST     MINSTK.EL. 

Truly,  Cousin  Bel,  these  shreds  and  patches  of  romance  are  won^fldh 
derfully  picturesque.  Hafen  does  honor  to  your  zeal  in  behalf  Ju, 
of  the  days  of  knighthood  and  minstrelsy."  '■ 

"  You  may  laugh,  Harvey,  as  much  as  jou  please,  but  there 
is  something  pleasant  in  the  idea  of  moated  castles,  and  gayjMijs 
knights,  and  border  feuds,  and  roundelays  under  one's  window, ! 
and  lighted  halls  where  ladies  dance  corantos  and  '  trod  measures' ; 
as  they  called  it !"  j 

"  And  when  hawks,"  added  Harvey,  "  were  not  flown  like  kites,. 

with  a  string,  but  came  at  a  whistle,  and  did  as  they  were  told ;  i 

and  troubadours  were  not  Butch  tinkers  ;  and  when  bachelors^ 

1 
could  win  mistresses  by  hard  blows,  and  were  not  sent  off  because 

they  were  merry  and  like  other  people." 

"Pshaw!  cousin,"  interrupted  Bel.  "You  havn't  one  spartj 
of  genuine  romance  in  your  whole  composition.  It  is  profane  tcj 
listen  to  such  a  recreant  as  you  are."  i 

"  Well,  Bel,  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Harvey.     "  It  is  not  to  be, 
denied  that  Hafen  shines  as  a  fiddler,  however  questionable  ma;^; 
be  his  merits  as  a  ballad-monger.     So  if  cousin  Kate  here  anfl 
Ralph  will  dance,  we  will  bring  him  into  the  parlor   and  have  t 
four-handed  reel.     We  will  call  it  a  coraniOj  if  you  prefer  th(. 
name  ;  and,  to  give  you  a  lighted  hall,  I  wilT  have. two  more  can 
dies  put  on  the  mantle-piece." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Bel ;  "  so  tell  Hafen  to  bring  in  his  instru 
ment." 

Hafen  appeared  at  the  summons,  and  an  hour  was  merrilj 
spent  in  dancing. 

When  the  dance  was  over,  Bel  gave  Hafen  a  glass  of  wine; 
and  slipped  into  his  hand  a  piece  of  money.  i 

"  Many  thanks  to  my  young  lady  !"  said  the  old  man.     "  Yor 
deserve  a  good  husband,  and  soon." 

"You  have   travelled,  TTafen,   to  very  litth^   purpo.se,"    saicj 


ifli 


I 


TiiE     LAST     MINSTREL.  381 

laney,  " if  you  are  not  able,  at  your  time  of  life,  to  tell  this 
kdy's  fortune." 

"  Oh,  bless  you !"  replied  Hafen,  "  I  can  do  that  very  truly. 
'ou  are  not  afraid,  young  mistress,  to  show  me  the  palm  of  your 
Lnd?" 

"  Not  she  !"  said  Harvey.  "  Bel,  open  your  hand ;  let  the 
jnerable  Hafen  disclose  to  you  the  decrees  of  fate." 

"  Take  care,  Hafen,"  said  Bel,  holding  out  her  hand  ;  "  if  you 
»y  one  unlucky  word  I  will  for  ever  dismiss  you  from  my  scr- 
ee." 

Hafen  took  from  his  pocket  an  old  pair  of  spectacles,  and 
oceeded,  very  minutely',  to  examine  the  open  hand. 

"  Here  is  a  line  that  has  not  more  than  six  months  to  run : 
at  is  the  line  of  marriage,  young  mistress.  It  is  not  so  smooth 
line,  neither,  as  ought  to  be  in  such  a  palm,  for  it  breaks  off  in 

0  or  three  places,  with  some  crossings." 

"  Defend  me  !"  cried  Bel.     "  What  does  that  mean  ?" 
"  It  means,"  replied  Hafen,  "  that  the  lady  is  hard  to  please, 
jid  can  scarcely  find  heart  to  make  up  her  mind." 

"  True  !"  exclaimed  Harvey.  "  Worshipful  soothsayer  Hafen 
.  on !" 

I  '•  The  lady  does  not  sleep  well  o'  nights,"  continued  Hafen  ; 
'md  here  are  cloudy  dreams ;  the  hand  is  mottled,  and  yet  her 
ood  ought  to  flow  smoothly  too,  for  it  has  a  healthy  color ;  the 
x\m  is  moist  and  shows  a  warm  heart :  I  fear  the  lady  has  fan- 
-s.  Well,  well,  it  is  all  nothing,  as  there  is  a  good  ending  to 
Here  is  a  person  who  has  done  her  great  service  lately.  He 
■il  do  her  more :  and, — let  me  see. — he  is  a  gentleman  of  good 
ood,  and  more  in  love  than  I  think  it  right  to  tell.     He  travels 

1  a  line  that  runs  to  marriage.  Fie,  my  young  mistress,  you 
)uld  not  be  obstinate  with  such  a  gentleman  !  But  here  is  a 
op  and  a  cross  line.  'There  is  many  a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and 
c  lip.'     No,  no,  it  is  better  than  it  looks." 


382  THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 

"  Excellent  well !"  cried  Harvey  again. 

'•  It  is  not  excellent  well,  cousin,"  said  Bel,  playfully  witj 
drawing  her  hand.  "  Hafen,  you  have  to  learn  the  beginnings  \ 
your  ^rt.  You  know  nothing  about  palmistry  !  Couldn't  y<l 
see,  with  half  an  eye,  that  the  marriage  line  on  my  hand  wasi 
mile  from  the  end  ?     I  wonder  at  you !" 

"  Not  so  fast,  not  so  fast,  Miss  Isabel !"  cried  Hafen,  with 
sly  laugh.  "  You  can't  deceive  me.  I  saw  the  very  man  to-dr  > 
And  a  proper  gentleman  he  is — a  brave  one,  as  I  said  befo] 
Why,  gentle  bred  as  he  is,  he  can  handle  any  man,  in  the  way 
boxing,  'twixt  this  and  Richmond.  It  is  a  real  pleasure  to  s 
him  strike  a  blow." 

"  His  name,"  said  Harvey. 

"  It  would  not  be  a  strange  name  to  these  walls,  if  I  was 
tell  it,"  answered  Hafen.  "  But  I  never  thought  such  a  pair 
arms  belonged  to  a  gentleman,  as  he  showed  this  morning." 

"  Ned  Hazard  !"  said  Harvey.  "  Pray,  what  did  you  see 
him  this  morning  ?"  ; 

"  I  will  tell  you  and  our  pretty  young  lady  here  what  I  sa\ 
replied  Hafen.  "  Up  here  at  the  cross-roads,  you  must  know, 
about  noon  or  a  little  later, — comes  along  Mister  Edward  Haza 
and  that  strange  gentleman  his  friend,  on  horseback,  with  tl- 
same  hawk  that's  out  here  in  the  cage.  Well,  there  was  a  par, 
of  neighbors  drinking,  and  such  like,  about  the  store.  Mis^ 
Edward  never  stands  much  upon  ceremony;  so,  he  got  do\ 
pnd  then  the  other  got  down,  and  'good  morning,'  and  'gc: 
morning,'  went  round.  Mister  Edward's  not  one  of  your  pro, 
men,  for  he  got  to  showing  them  the  bird,  and  told  them,  bl' 
your  heart !  whoso  it  was — Miss  Isabel's  here.  I  suspected  soif 
thing  then,"  said  Hafen,  putting  his  finger  against  the  side  of  ' 
nose  and  looking  at  Harvey.  "  Well,  one  word  brought  i 
another,  and  somehow  or  'nother,  Miles  Rutherford  gives  Mis' 


I  THE     LAST     MINSTREL.  383 

Kdward  the  lie.     So,  out  jumps  Mister  Edward,  and  calls  to  the 

jthers  to  stand  by  him,  and  swears  out  pretty  strong,  (you  know, 

Miss  Isabel,  Mister  Ned's  like  any  other  man  at  swearing  when 

le's  angry,)  and  tells  Miles  to  step  out  if  he  dares,  and  says,  he 

will  lick  him  to  his  heart's  content, — or  something  to  that  eflfect. 

'Well,  Miles  had  whipped  almost  every  fighting  man  in  the  county, 

md  he  wa'nt  going  to  be  baulked  by  Ned  Hazard  ;  and,  accord- 

lingly,  out  he  comes.     Mercy  on  me  !  says  I,  now  Mister  Edward 

will  give  Miles  such  a  mouthful  to  stay  his  stomach,  as  he  never 

tasted  in  his  life  before.     I  knew  Mr.   Hazard  of  old,  and  told 

Miles  what  he'd  get.     And  sure  enough,  it  would  have  done  your 

heart  good.  Miss  Isabel,  if  you  had  seen  how  Mister  Edward  did 

jdrub  Miles  !     And  the  best  of  it  was,  he  did  it  so  genteel,  as  if 

|he  didn't  want  to  bloody  his  clothes.     And  when  he  was  done  he 

Iwiped  his  face,  as  natural  as  if  he  had  been  at  his  dinner,  and  I 

ibrought  him  some  water  to  wash  his  hands ;  and  then  off  he  and 

ithe  tother  gentleman  rode  after  bidding  the  company  good  day. — 
Upon  which  we  gave  them  three  cheers." 

I      '•  Are   you   telling   us   the   truth,   Hafen  ?"    asked   Harvey, 

[earnestly. 

I  "  I  would  not  tell  you  a  lie.  Mister  Harvey,"  replied  Hafen, 
"  if  it  was  to  save  my  right  hand  from  being  chopped  off  this 
minute." 

1       "  This  morning,  do  you  say  this  happened  ?" 
"  As  I  am  a  Christian  man,"  said  the  tinker. 

I       "  Ned  fought  with  that  bully.  Miles  Rutherford  ?— and  with 

I  fists?" 

"  As  fair  a  fight.  Mister   Riggs,"   replied  Hafen,   '•  and  as 

I  pretty  a  one  as  you  ever  saw." 

"  What  brought  it  about  ?     You  have  told  us  nothing  about 
the  cause  of  the  quarrel." 

"  I'm  not  particular  about  that,"  said  the  other  ;  "  but  it  was 


384  THE     LAST    MINSTREL. 

words.  The  truth  is,  I  suspect  Miles  was  impertinent,  an( 
Mister  Edward  wanted  to  beat  him ;  for  he  said  he  did  it  on  ac 
count  of  the  good  of  the  public.  Both  on  'em  might  have  been  : 
little  in  the  wrong,  but  Mister  Hazard's  hand  was  in  ;  and,  yoi 
know,  a  man  don't  stand  much  persuasion  when  that's  the  case 
Butj  you  may  depend,  Mister  Edward  gained  a  great  deal  o 
glory." 

"  Edward  didn't  say  a  word  about  this  to  us,"  said  Bel. 

"  I  can't  unriddle  it,"  replied  Harvey,  shaking  his  head. 

Hafen  was  now  dismissed  from  the  parlor  ;  and  Bel  and  Hai 
vey  fell  into  a  long  conversation,  in  relation  to  the  disclosure  tha 
was  just  made.  Bel  uttered  a  deep  and  sincere  complaint  h 
Harvey's  ear,  that  the  waywardness  of  Hazard's  temper  shoul( 
be  so  continually  driving  him  off  his  guard.  It  was  so  unbecom 
ing  his  station  in  society  to  permit  himself  to  appear  in  thes 
lights  to  the  world  !  When  would  he  learn  discretion  ?  Ho^ 
could  he  hope  to  win  the  affections  even  of  his  intimate  friendf 
when  he  was  perpetually  offending  against  the  plainest  duties  h 
owed  them  ?  She  admitted  his  goodness  of  heart,  and  the  valu 
she  set  upon  the  many  excellent  points  in  his  character  ;  but  i 
seemed  as  if  fate  had  unalterably  decreed  that  every  day  he  wa 
to  be  farther  removed  from  all  hopes  of  making  himself  agreeabl 
to  her. 

To  these  suggestions  Harvey  could  frame  no  defence,  excep 
that  Hafen  had,  perhaps,  misrepresented  the  facts.  : 

"I  do  not  wish  to  inquire  into  the  details,"  said  Bel,  "becausi 
no  provocation,  in  my  opinion,  could  excuse  a  gentleman  in  mat 
ing  such  a  figure  before  a  set  of  low-bred  rustics.     I  canno 
express  to  you,  cousin  Harvey,  how  much  this  thing  shocks  me. 

"  There  are  provocations,  Bel,"  replied  Harvey,  ''  that  woul 
.render  such  an  exploit  meritorious — even  in  a  gentleman.". 

"I  cannot  think  it, — cousin: — I  cannot  think  so,"  replic 
Bel,  musing  over  tlie  matter;  "  T  wish  I  could." 


THE     LAST     MINSTREL.  385 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Bel,  what  we  will  do,"  said  Harvey,  with  a  gay 
air ;  "  we  will  get  our  old  minnesinger  Hafen  to  hitch  it  into 
verse  and  sing  it  to  the  tune  of '  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.'" 

"  Incorrigible  sinner  !"  exclaimed  Bel,  "  how  can  you  jest 
upon  such  an  incident  !  as  for  your  friend  Edward,  I  pity  him ; 
you  know  why.  •  But  do  not  make  mc  think  as  hardly  of  you. 
Good  night !" 

"  Pleasant  dreams  to  you  !"  cried  Harvey.  *'  Fancy  that  you 
have  heard  of  a  tilting  match  between  a  bull  and  a  cavalier,  and 
that  the  bull  was  beaten.  Romance  and  chivalry  are  sovereign 
varnishes  for  cracked  crowns  and  bloody  noses.     Good  night  1" 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 


SIGNS     OF    A    HERO. 


0 

list 


While  Hazard  was  indulging  the  luxurious  fancy  that  he  hac 
sailed,  at  last,  into  the  harbor  of  Bel's  good  graces ;  and  was  casfej 
ing  ahout  to  see  how  he  should  best  make  good  his  moorings  j 
Hafen,  like  a  lame  Yulcan,  was  forging  a  thunderbolt  that  war! 
destined  to  descend  upon  Ned's  slender  pinnace,  and  either  teai! 
up  one  of  the  principal  planks,  or  at  least,  give  him  such  a  lurcl 
as  should  make  him  think  he  was  going  straight  to  the  bottom,   j 
Happy  would  it  have  been  for  Hazard  if  he  had  not  forbidden 
me  to  say  any  thing  to  his  mistress  about  his  unfortunate  quar; 
rel  with  Miles  Kutherford  ;  for  then  I  could  have  given  the  mati 
ter  such  a  gloss  as  must  have  entirely  satisfied  any  reasonabLi 
woman  whatever.     But  to  have  this  incident  mangled  by  Hafei; 
Blok,  disgraced  by  his  slang,  and  discolored  by  his  officious  zea;; 
to  contribute  to  Ned's  glorification,  was  one  of  those  unlucb 
strokes  of  fortune  to  which  the  principal  actors  in  romance  hav< 
been  subject  from  time  immemorial.     This,  therefore,  gives  hk: 
strong  hopes  that  he  is  really  destined  to  be  a  hero  of  some  noti 
before  I  am  done  with  him.     It  has  thrown  him,  for  the  present 
into  a  deep  shade.     And  yet, — shortsighted  mortal ! — so  littlt 
suspicious  was  he  that  aifairs  had  taken  this  turn,  that  all  th< 
next  day  (being  Sunday)  he  was  more  like  a  man  bordering  upoi 
insanity  than  a  rational  Christian.     His  first  impulse  was  to  gi 


k 


SIGNS    OF     A     HERO.  387 

ver  to  The  Brakes  immediately  after  breakfast :  then,  he  checked 
limself  by  the  consideration  that  it  was  pushing  matters  too 
iercely.  After  this,  he  thought  of  sending  for  Harvey  Riggs  to 
oin  us  at  dinner :  then,  he  reflected  that  it  wasn't  Harvey  he 
iished  to  see.     He  then  sat  down  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  but 

lOon  discovered  that  he  could  not  understand  one  sentence  that 

I 

le  was  reading.  He  got  up,  and  walked  as  far  as  the  g-ate  ; 
ooked  critically  at  the  plum-tree,  that  had  not  the  smallest  ap- 
pearance of  fruit  upon  it  and  very  few  leaves,  and  then  returned 
|o  the  house  whistling,  where  Lucy  and  Vic  told  him,  '•  it  was 
;unday  and  he  must  not  whistle."  At  length,  as  a  last  resort, 
lie  went  up  to  his  chamber,  and  dressed  himself  out  with  extraor- 
Unary  particularity  in  white  drilling  pantaloons,  as  stiff  with 
;tarch  as  if  they  were  made  of  foolscap  paper,  a  white  waistcoat, 
lis  dark-green  frock,  a  black  stock,  boots  and  his  hair-cloth  forage- 
ap.  In  this  attire  he  appeared  in  the  hall,  with  a  riding-whip  in 
lis  hand,  walking  up  and  down  in  profound  abstraction. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Ned  ?'  asked  Meriwether, 

"  Going  ?"  he  replied,  "  I  am  going  to  stay  at  home." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  !  I  thought  you  were  about  to  ride." 
Meriwether  passed  on.     Ned  continued  his  walk. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Edward  ?"  asked  my  cousin  Lucretia. 
I      "  Nowhere,"  said  Ned. 

"  Edward,  where  are  you  going  V  inquired  Prudence. 

'•  I  am  not  going  out,"  said  Ned. 
I       "  Uncle  Ned,  may  I  go  with  you?  shall  I  get  Spitfire  ?"  cried 
Rip,  running  into  the  hall. 

"  Where  V  asked  Ned,  with  some  surprise. 

"  Wherever  you  are  going  to  ride,"  answered  Rip. 

"  Good  people  !"  exclaimed  Hazard.  "  What  has  got  into  the 
family !  where  would  you  have  me  go  ?  what  do  you  see  ?  what 
do  you  want  ?" 


. 


d 


388  SIGNS     OF    A    HERO. 

"  Arn^t  you  going  to  ride  ?"  asked  Kip. 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear." — Away  went  Rip. 

All  this  I  saw  from  the  porch.     So,  getting  up  from  my  seai''     ^^ 
I  also  accosted  him  with  the  same  question.     "  Where  are  yo 
going?" 

'•  The  Lord  knows,  Mark !  I  have  just  dressed  myself,  aiHj 
have  been  walking  here,  for  want  of  something  better  to  do.  '.\ 
wish  it  were  to-morrow  !  for  I  don't  like  to  go  over  yonder  to-dajj 
I  think  a  man  ought  not  to  visit  more  than  three  times  a  weeii 
— I  feel  very  queerly  this  morning:  I  have  been  everywhere! 
gaping  about  like  an-  apprentice-boy  in  his  Sunday  clothes.  !  \ 
have  seen  the  horses  in  the  stable,  the  fowls  in  the  poultry -yard; 
the  pigs,  the  negroes,  and,  in  fact,  I  don^t  know  what  in  the  dcvi; 
to  do  with  myself  Mark,  we  will  go  over  to  The  Brakes  to-mor| 
row  morning  ?"  i  Aim 

"  Oh,  certainly.     I  think  our  affairs  require  some  attentioii  ||i< 
in  that  quarter.     Why  not  go  this  evening  ?"  i 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  said  Ned.  "  But  it  would  alarnj 
the  family.  I  feel  qualmish  at  being  seen  there  too  often.  Peoj 
pie  are  so  fond  of  gossipping  !  No,  no,  we  will  wait  until  to 
morrow." 

These  particulars  will  show  the  state  of  Hazard's  mind,  th( 
day  following  the  recovery  of  the  hawk, — a  day  that  passed  hcavilj 
enough.  Ned  pretended  to  impute  all  this  tediousness  to  Sun- 
day, which,  he  remarked,  was  always  the  most  difficult  day  in  the 
week  to  get  through. 

On  Monday  morning  we  were  at  The  Brakes  by  ten  o'clock. 
Bel  was  busy  with  Fairbourne,  and  looked  uncommonly  fresh 
and  gay.  Her  manner  was  affable,  and  too  easy,  I  thought,  con- 
sidering the  peculiar  relation  of  her  affairs,  at  this  moment, 
towards  Hazard.  She  addressed  her  conversation  principally  to 
me  ;  and,  once  or  twice,  refused  Ned's  services  in  some  little  mat- 


SIGNS     OV     A     HERO.  389 

ers  wherein  it  was  natural  he  should  offer  tliem.     I  observed. 


I    floreover,  that  she  did  not  second  his  attempts  at  wit  as  freely 

t    s  she  wa^used  to  do  :  they  made  me  smile ;  but  upon  her  they 

bll  harmless  and  flat,  like  schoolboys'  arrows  headed  with  tar. 

Lll  this  seemed  strange  and  boded  ill.     Hazard  observed  it ;  for 

j   |)  made  him  awkward  ;  his  cheek  grew  pale,  and  his  words  stuck 

1  his  throat. 

In  a  short  time  some  household  matters  called  Bel  away. 

"  The  wind  has  changed,"  said  Ned,  in  a  half-whisper  to  me, 
s  we  walked  to  the  parlor  ;  "  the  thermometer  is  falling  towards 
he  freezing  point.     I  wish  this  business  was  at  the " 

"  Whist,  Ned  !"  I  exclaimed,  "  don't  swear  !  There  is  some 
listake  in  this  matter :  we'll  talk  to  Harvey." 

Harvey  Kiggs  took  a  seat  with  us  at  the  front  door :  and 
jhere,  in  a  long,  confidential  and  grave  conference,  he  explained 
b  us  all  that  he  knew  of  this  perplexing  affair.  He  said  that  he 
ad  been  trying  to  bring  Bel  to  reason,  because  he  thought,  to  use 
is  own  phrase,  "  it  was  all  flummery  in  her  to  be  so  hyperbolical 
i'ith  Ned  ;"  but  that  she  was  struck,  just  between  wind  and  water, 
Kth  Hafen's  rigmarole  about  Ned's  boxing  match  ;  and  that  it 
j'ould  require  some  time  to  get  this  warp  out  of  her  fancy ;  that 
bere  was  no  question  she  was  deeply  wounded  by  all  she  had 
card ;  but  still  he  had  hopes,  that  he  would  be  able  to  set  matters 
light  again,  "  Ned,"  said  he,  "  my  dear  fellow,  let  me  warn  you, 
|t  least  until  you  are  married,  (if  you  are  ever  to  have  that  luck.) 
p  care  how  you  make  a  fool  of  yourself ;  because  it  is  sure  imme- 
(iately  to  turn  Bel  into  a  greater  one.  Mark,  they  are  a  miracu- 
')us  pair  of  geese  !"  cried  Harvey,  breaking  out  into  a  loud  laugh ; 
iOd  then  singing  out  with  a  great  flourish,  to  the  tune  of  a  popu- 
lu:  song,  the  following  doggerel — 


I 


And  grant,  oh  Queen  of  fools !  he  said — 
Thus  ran  the  mooncalf  s  prayer — 


390  SIGNS    OF     A     HERO. 

That  I  may  prove  the  drollest  knight 
And  wed  the  queerest  fair. 


15 


ink 


lit 


|(tiii 

JiltSfl 


IKSL 


Ned  absolutely  raved.  He  thought  lie  had  the  fairest  occ. 
sion  in  the  world  to  get  into  a  passion ;  and  he,  accordingly,  fe 
to  swearing  against  all  womankind,  in  the  most  emphatic  term 
As  soon  as  he  had  "  unpacked  his  heart"  in  this  way,  he  dropp^  ^ 
into  another  mood,  and  began  to  deplore  his  fate,  pretty  much ; 
he  had  done  on  some  of  those  former  occasions  that  I  have  d 
scribed ;  and  last  of  all, — which  he  ought  to  have  done  at  first,- 
he  became  very  reasonable  ;  and,  in  a  calm,  manly  defence  • 
himself,  narrated  circumstantially  the  whole  affair  ;  showing,  i 
the  most  conclusive  manner,  that  he  had  been  induced  to  acoej 
Miles  Rutherford's  challenge,  only  because  he  did  not  choose  tl 
hear  that  graceless  brawler  pour  out  his  vile  abuse  upon  one  i 
venerable  in  his  eyes  as  Mr.  Tracy. 

"  What  could  I  do,"  said  he,  '•  but  chastise  such  a  scound'n 
for  the  irreverent  mention,  in  such  a  circle,  of  the  excellent  o 
gentleman?  and,  I  humbly  think,  that,  of  all  persons  in  tl 
world,  Bel  Tracy  is  the  last  that  has  a  right  to  complain  of  it." 

"  This  sets  the  matter  in  a  new  light,"  said  Harvey ;  '•  I  to 
Bel,  I  was  certain  Hafen  had  lied.  Her  worshipful  minstrel,  h 
rascally  minnesinger  makes  a  great  figure  in  this  business  !" 

Here  Hazard's  mood  changed  again.     Nothing  is  so  brave  ij*™ 
a  lover  who  has  found  good  ground  to  rail  against  his  mistref' 
He  may  be  as  gentle  as  a  pet  squirrel,  or  a  lamb  that  is  fed  ] 
hand,  as  long  as  he  has  no  confederate  to  encourage  him  in  rebc 
lion  ;  but  no  sooner  does  he  receive  a  compassionate  word  from 
by-stander,  or  enlist  a  party,  than  he  becomes  the  most  perem 
tory  and  fearful  of  animals.     Harvey's  words  stirred  up  Nee 
soul  into  a  sublime  mutiny ;  and,  for  some  minutes,  he  was  mo ; 
extravagant  than  ever.     He  would  let  Bel  see  that  she  had  ma'' 
a  sad  mistake,  when  she  imagined  that  he  was  going  to  surrcnd  \ 


viic 


SIGNS     OF     A     HERO.  391 

is  free  agency,  his  judgment,  his  inclinations,  his  sense  of  duty 
)  her  !  It  became  a  man  to  take  a  stand  in  affairs  of  this  na- 
ire  !     He  scorned  to  put  on  a  character  to  win  a  woman,  that 

did  not  mean  to  support  afterwards,  if  he  should  be  successful : 
would  be  rank  hypocrisy  !  What,  in  the  devil's  name,  did  she 
pect  of  him  ! — to  stand  by,  and  acknowledge  himself  a  man, 
lien  she — yes,  she  herself — for  an  attack  upon  her  father  was  an 
rack  upon  her — was  reviled  and  made  the  subject  of  profane 
St  and  vituperation  on  the  lips  of  an  outlaw  !  Let  Bel  consider 
in  this  point  of  view,  and  how  could  she  possibly  find  fault  with 
m?" 

"  Yes.  Let  Bel  consider  it  in  this  point  of  view  !"  said  Har- 
jy,  chiming  in  with  a  droll  and  affected  gravity ;  "  I'll  go  and 
it  the  subject  to  her  in  this  light,  this  very  instant." 

"  No,"  said  Ned,  "  you  need  not  be  in  a  hurry.  But,  in 
;  jirnest,  Harvey,  at  another  time  I  would  like  you  to  do  it :  it  is 
it  justice." 

"  I'll  harrow  up,"  replied  Harvey,  with  a  deep  tragic  voice, 
,1  [her  inmost  soul." 

"In  order  that  you  may  have  free  scope,"  said  Hazard,  ''  it 
(ill  be  better  for  Mark  and  me  to  set  off  home  immediately." 

"'Sir  Lucius,  we  won't  run,'"  said  I,  laughing.  "Do  you 
link  there  is  danger,  Ned?  shall  we  make  a  rapid  retreat?" 

•"Brush,'  exclaimed  Harvey,  'the  sooner  you  are  off,  the 
stter !'  I  will  meet  you  anon,  and  report  to  you  at  Swallow 
am." 

Without  taking  leave  of  the  family  we  commenced  our  re- 
'•eat ;  and  during  the  ride  Ned  displayed  the  same  alternations 
;'  feeling  that  were  manifested  in  our  interview  with  Harvey, 
hese  emotions  resolved  themselves,  at  last,  into  one  abiding  and 
ermanent  determination,  and  that,  considering  the  character 
lad  temper  of  Hazard,  was  sufficiently  comic,  namely, — that  in 


592 


SIGNS    OF     A    HERO, 


his  future  intercourse  with  Bel,  he  would  invariably  observe  thti 
most  scrupulous  regard  to  all  the  high-flown  and  overstraine 
elegancies  and  proprieties  of  conduct  which  she  so  pretended  t  i 
idolize.     His  humor  was  that  of  dogged  submission  to  her  mosj 
capricious  whims.     Never  did  spaniel  seem  so  humbled. 

"  I  know  I  shall  make  a  fool  of  myself,"  said  he,  '•  but  that  i! 
her  look-out,  not  mine.     I'll  give  her  enough  of  her  super-subthi 
unimaginable,  diabolical  dignity  ! — I  will  be  the  very  essence  c 
dulness,  and  the  quintessence  of  decorum  ! — I  will  turn  myse]. 
into  an  ass  of  the  first  water,  until  I  make  her  so  sick  of  pedantr 
and  sentiment,  that  a  good  fellow  shall  go  free  with  her  all  tb 
rest  of  her  life  !" 


il 


*Ja!o 


% 
pi 


CHAPTER  XL 


A     COUNCIL     OF    WAR. 


3  soon  as  we  had  left  The  Brakes  Harvey  sought  an  opportu- 

ty  to  communicate  to  Bel  all  that  he  had  learned  from  us  in  re- 

^rd  to  the  cause  and  circumstances  of  the  quarrel  between  Ned 

^d  E-utherford  ;  presenting  to  her,  in  the  strongest  point  of  view 

1  was  able,  the  signal  injustice  she  had  done  to  so  faithful  and 

<|voted  a  lover.     "  I  should  not  have  regarded  the  matter  a  rush," 

fid  Harvey,  "  if  it  were  not  that  Ned,  as  I  have  often  told  you, 

ione  of  the  most  sensitive  creatures  alive,  and  so  much  inclined 

i  melancholy  that  there  is  no  knowing  what  effect  such  an  inci- 

<|nt  may  have  upon  his  temper."     Bel  smiled  incredulously,  and 

emed  as  if  she  did  not  know  whether  to  take  Harvey  in  jest  or 

rnest. 

"  You  may  treat  this  lightly,"  continued  Harvey,  "  but  I  am 
lire  you  will  feel  some  unpleasant  misgivings  when  you  come  to 
Meet  on  it."     She  smiled  again. 

I  "  It  is  not  a  just  return  for  that  admirable  constancy,"  Har- 
■ty  proceeded,  "  which  Ned,  notwithstanding  his  upper  current 
'  levity,  has  always  shown  towards  you  ;  and  which,  amidst  all 
s  waywardness,  has  always  set  steadily  towards  you.  If  he  has 
:en  volatile  in  his  pursuits,  you  cannot  deny  that  he  has  con- 
Iscted  you  with  the  pleasantest  passages  of  his  life ;  if  he  has 
jsen  strange  in  his  conduct,  now  and  then,  it  is  very  obvious  that 
I  17* 

i 


394  A     COUNCIL     OF     WAR. 

he  has  never  ceased  to  feel  the  desire  to  make  himself  agreeat 
to  you ;  if  he  has  occasionally  erred  from  the  straight  line  ;  Mi 
decorum,  every  transgression  may  be  traced  to  some  ardent  e  \  m.$ 
deavor  to  support  your  cause,  even  at  the  expense  of  your  goi 
opinion.  Now,  this  is  what  I  call  faith,  honor  and  gallantry, 
shows  single-heartedness,  homage  and  modesty.  It  is  in  the  ve» 
best  strain  of  a  cavalier  devoted  to  his  lady-love ;  and  has  mcl 
true  chivalry  in  it  than  all  the  formal  courtesies  in  the  world- j 

Bel  began  to  look  grave.  ■ 

"  It  cuts  Ned  to  the  heart  to  think  his  mistress  ungrateft- 
and,  particularly,  that  she  should  listen  to  a  vile  strolling  tink; 
and  take  his  account  of  a  fray  as  if  it  were  gospel,  instead  of  si 
pending  her  opinion  until  she  should  have  a  more  authentic  re; 
tion  from  himself  This  has  sunk  deeper  into  his  feelings  tM 
any  act  of  unkindness  that  ever  befell  him.  And  from  you,  B| 
— Conceive  what  anguish  Ned  must  have  experienced  when  y(^ 
cold  looks  chided  him  for  one  of  the  most  disinterested  actions  fj||^ 
his  life." 

"  Why  didn't  he  tell  us  all  about  this  quarrel  when  he  brou| 
the  hawk  home  ?"  said  Bel.  "  Why  was  he  silent  then,  I  sho 
like  to  know  ?" 

"  Was  it  for  him,"  asked  Harvey,  "  to  vaunt  his  exploits  ji 
your  ear?  A  brave  man  naturally  forbears  to  speak  of  h 
achievements ;  and  therein  is  Ned's  true  modesty  of  characijr 
conspicuous.  He  would  have  concealed  this  from  you  untilp 
had  grown  gray,  lest  you  might  have  been  tempted  to  think  |B 
played  the  braggart  with  you.  I  cannot  sujfficientl}^  admire  s.li 
forbearance."  ', 

"  Ah  me,  cousin  !"  said  Bel,  •'  I  do  not  know  what  to  thi,:. 
You  perplex  me.  I  would  not  willingly  offend  the  meanest  c:,i- 
ture  that  lives.  I  am  sure  I  have  no  reason  to  be  unkind  to  - 
Hazard.     But  still  it  is  not  my  fault  that  I  cannot  set  the  S{;0 


A     COUNCIL     OF     WAR.  395 


value  upon  his  virtues  that  you  and  others  do. — I  almost  wish  I 
bad  not  been  so  marked  in  my  demeanor  to  him  this  morning 
I  am  sure  I  am  not  ungrateful  in  my  temper,  cousin  Harvey. 
Did  he  speak  much  of  it  ?" 

"  Rather  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,"  returned  Harvey.  -  But 
the  thought  haunted  him  all  the  time  he  was  here.  He  broke 
out  once  or  twice  and  swore." 

^'  Swore  at  me .?"  exclaimed  Beh 

"  No  ;  I  was  mistaken  in  saying  he  swore.  He  gave  vent  to 
some  piteous  feelings, — as  well  he  might : — but  they  were  ex- 
jpressed  chiefly  in  sighs." 

I      "  I  wish  I  knew  whether  you  were  in  earnest,  Harvey,"  said 
iBel,  beseechingly.     "  Mercy  on  me  !  I  do  not  know  what  to  think. 

[wish  I  were  in  heaven !  And  still,  I  won't  believe  Ned  Hazard 
^ares  the  thousandth  part  as  much  for  me  as  you  make  out." 

This  was  not  true,  for  Bel  was  inwardly  very  much  moved 
|with  the  whole  relation,  and  began  to  feel,  what  she  never  before 
acknowledged,  that  Ned  had  a  very  fair  claim  .to  her  considera- 
tion. 

Harvey  was  making  an  experiment  upon  her  heart;  and,  hav- 
ing set  her  to  musing  over  the  afiair,  left  her  to  settle  the  case 
with  her  own  conscience.  He  had  now  satisfied  himself  that  Ned, 
if  he  used  even  ordinary  discretion,  might  turn  the  accident  to 
good  account ;  and  he  therefore  said  nothing  more  to  Bel,  know- 
ing that  the  more  she  thought  of  what  had  passed,  the  graver 
would  be  the  impression  on  her  mind. 

The  next  morning  he  hastened  over  to  Swallow  Barn,  where, 
like  a  trusty  minister,  he  detailed  the  sum  of  his  observations  in 
a  solemn  council,  convoked  for  that  purpose. 

Never  was  any  topic  more  minutely  or  more  ably  discussed. 
We  all  agreed  that  Ned's  prospects  were  brightening;  that  a 
crisis  had  arrived  which  it  required  great  judgment  to   manage 


396  A     COUNCIL     OF     WAR. 

with  effect ;  and  that,  above  all  things,  he  must  be  very  guardec  ] 
for  the  future.  It  was  also  resolved  that  he  should  hencefortl 
be  more  special  and  direct  in  his  attentions,  and  not  scruple  t( 
assume  the  posture  of  an  avowed  lover ;  that  he  should  put  on  a: 
much  propriety  of  manner  as  might  be  found  requisite  to  gratif 
Bel's  most  visionary  requisitions ;  and  that,  in  particular,  he  mus 
neither  swear  in  her  presence,  nor  talk  lightly  before  her. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  Ned,  who  had  grown  as  pliant  as  ; 
trained  hound  in  our  hands,  "  I  have  already  resolved  to  sho^ 
her  that  I  can  play  the  part  of  the  most  solemn  fool  in  th 
world.  But,  what  perplexes  me  most  is  to  find  out  some  sent: 
mental  subject  for  conversation.  I  shall  commit  myself  by  som 
egregious  blunder  of  a  joke,  if  I  get  to  talking  at  randon 
Faith,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  write  down  a  whole  discourse  an' 
commit  it  to  memory. 

"  Talk  to  her,"  said  Harvey,  upon  classical  matters.  Sho^ 
her  your  learning.  She  thinks  you  don't  read;  rub  up  somex 
your  college  pedantry  :  any  thing,  man  ; — give  her  a  little  of  th 
heathen  mythology !" 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  it !"  cried  Ned  with  exultation.  '•  I'll  astonis 
her  with  a  whole  Encyclopedia  of  nonsense." 

"  Take  care,  though,"  interrupted  Harvey,  "  to  season  it  we 
with  delicate  and  appropriate  allusions  to  the  affair  in  han« 
Let  it  be  congenial  and  lover-like ;  no  matter  how  nonsensica! 
But  don't  be  bombastic,  Ned." 

"  Trust  me  !"  he  replied,  "  I'll  suit  her  to  the  twentieth  pa  i 
of  a  scruple." 

Here  our  conclave  broke  up  with  a  flash  of  merriment ;  ar.i 
we  did  nothing  but  jest  all  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Harvey  dined  with  us ;  and  when,  in  the  evening,  he  thougl 
of  returning,  Carey  came  into  the  parlor  to  make  a  propositic 
which  had  the  effect  to  retain  our  guest  with  us  all  that  nigti 
The  incident  that  followed  will  require  a  chapter  to  itself 


ClIArTER  XLI. 


WOODCRAFT. 


•   H^iiEN  Carey  came  into    the   parlor   he  pulled  off  bis   hat  and 
;iiade  a  profound  bow  ;  and  then  advanced  to  the  back  of  Ned's 
riif  phair,  where,  in  a  low  and  orderlj^  tone  of  voice,  he  made  the  fol- 
lowing grave  and  interesting  disclosure  :  namely,  that  the  boys — 
tJ   meaning  some  of  the  other  negroes  who  belonged  to  the  planta- 
vii   tionT— had  found  out  what  had  been  disturbing  the  poultry-yard 

:ii   for  some  time  past :  that  it  was  not  a  mink,  as  had  been  given 
i 
but,  but  nothing  less  than   a  large  old   ^2^ossum  that  had  been 

'raced  to  a  gum  tree  over  by  the  river,  about  a  mile  distant :  that 
the  boys  had  diskivered  him  (to  use  Carey's  own  term)  by  some 
i;;    feathers  near    the  tree ;  and,  when  they  looked  into  the  hollow, 
\j    they  could  see  his  eyes  shining  "  like  foxfire."     He  said  they  had 
rs    been  trying  to  screw  him  out,  by  thrusting  up  a  long  stick,  cut 
with  a  fork  at  the   end,  (an  approved  method  of  bringing  out 
squirrels,  foxes  and  rabbits  from  their  holes,  and  much  in  practice 
in  the  country.)  and  tangling  it  in  his  hair,  but  that  this  design 
was  abandoned  under  the  supposition  that,  perhaps,  Master  Ed- 
ward would  like  to  hunt  him  in  the  regular  way. 

Ned  professed  a  suitable  concern  in  the  intelligence  ;  but  in- 
quired of  Carey,  whether  he,  as  an  old  sportsman,  thought  it 
lawful  to  hunt  an  opossum   at  midsummer.     This  interrogatory 


398  WOODCRAFT. 

set  the  old  negro  to  chuckling,  and  afterwards,  with  a  wise  look,  tCj 
putting  the  several  cases  in  which   he  considered  a  hunt  at  the 
present  season  altogether  consonant  with  prescriptive  usage.     He 
admitted   that   ''possiwis  in  general  were  not  to  be  followed  til]  I 
persimmon   time,   because   they  were  always  fattest  when  that 
fruit  was  ripe  ;  but,  when  they  couldn't  get  persimmons  they  wer( 
"  mighty  apt"  to  attack  the   young  fowls  and  cut  their  throats 
that   it  was  good  law  to  hunt  any  sort  of  creature  when  he  wa; 
known  to  be  doing  mischief  to  the  plantation.     But  even  then 
Carey  affirmed  with  a  "  howsomdever,"  and  "  nevertheless,"  tha 
if  they  carried  young,  and  especially  a  "  '^:)05SW77?,"    (which  hai 
more  young  ones  than  most  other  beasts,)  he  thought  they  ough 
to  be  let  alone  until  their  appropriate  time.     This,  however,  wai 
a  large  male  opossum,  that  was  known  to  be  engaged  in  nefariou 
practices ;  and,  moreover,   was  "  shocking  fat ;"    and  therefore 
upon  the  whole,   Carey  considered  him  as  a  lawful   subject  o 
chase. 

To  this  sagacious  perpending  of  the  question,  and  to  the  coe, 
elusion  which  the  veteran  had  arrived  at,  Ned  could  oppose  n 
valid  objection.  He,  therefore,  replied  that  he  was  entirely  coe 
vinced  that  he,  Carey,  had  taken  a  correct  view  of  the  subject  - 
and  that  if  Mr.  Riggs  and  Mr.  Littleton  could  be  prevailed  upo] 
to  lend  a  hand,  nothing  would  be  more  agreeable  than  the  pre 
posed  enterprise. 

We  were  unanimous  on  the  proposition.  Harvey  agreed  t; 
defer  his  return  to  The  Brakes  until  the  next  morning ;  and  ij 
was  arranged  that  we  should  bo  apprised  by  Carey  when  tlie  prcj! 
per  hour  came  to  set  out  on  the  expedition.  Carey  then  detailej 
the  mode  of  proceeding :  A  watch  was  to  be  set  near  the  hei; 
roost,  the  dogs  were  to  be  kept  out  of  the  way,  lest  theyraigl:! 
steal  upon  the  enemy  unawares,  and  destroy  him  without  a  chase, 
notice  was  to  be  given  of  his  approach  ;  and  one  or  two  of  thofej 


WOODCRAFT.  399 

1  the  watch  were  to  frighten  him  away  ;  and  after  allowing  him 
me  enough  to  get  back  to  the  woods,  the  dogs  were  to  be  put 
ion  the  trail  and  to  pursue  him  until  he  was  treed. 

Having  announced  this,  the  old  servant  bowed  again  and  left 
ic  room,  saying,  that  it  would  be  pretty  late  before  we  should  be 
'lied  out,  because  it  was  natural  to  these  thieving  animals  to 
\\i  until  people  went  to  bed ;  and  that  a  ''possum  was  one  of  the 
Imningest  things  alive. 

Midnight  arrived  without  a  summons  from  our  leader :  the 
,inily   had  long  since  retired  to  rest ;  and  we  began  to  fear  that 

"     ir  vigil  was  to  end  in  disappointment.     "We  had  taken  posses 

■    on  of  the  settees  in  the  hall,  and  had  almost  dropped  asleep, 
hen,  about  half  past  twelve,  Carey  came  tiptoeing  through  the 

*"    ack  door  and  told  us,  in  a  mysterious  whisper,  that  the  depre- 
itor  upon  the  poultry-yard  had  just  been  detected  in  his  visit  : 

'■    lat  big  Bon  (for  so  one  of  the  negroes  was  denominated,  to  dis- 
nguish  him  from  little  Ben.)  had  been  out  and  saw  the  animal 

"    culking  close  under  the  fence  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  roost. 

"    ipon  this  intelligence,  we  rose  and  followed  the  oid  domestic  to 
le  designated  spot. 
Here  were  assembled  six  or  seven  of  the  negroes,  men  and 

'''  jys,  who  were  clustered  into  a  group  at  a  short  distance  from 
le  poultry-yard.  Within  a  hundred  paces  the  tall  figure  of  big 
en  was  discerned,  in  dim  outline,  proceeding  cautiously  across 
field  until  he  had  receded  beyond  our  view.  A  nocturnal  ad- 
9nture  is  always  attended  with  a  certain  show  of  mystery  :  the 
resence  of  darkness  conjures  up  in  every  mind  an  indefinite 
■nse  of  fear — faint,  but  still  suflicient  to  throw  an  interest  around 
'ivial  things,  to  which  we  are  strangers  in  the  daytime.  The  lit- 
e  assembly  of  blacks  we  had  just  joined  were  waiting  in  noiseless 
38erve  for  some  report  from  Ben  ;  and,  upon  our  arrival,  were 
spressing  in  low  and  wary  whispers,  their  conjectures  as  to  the 


40C  WOODCRAFT. 

course  the  game  bad  taken,  or  recounting  their  separate  experj 
ence  as  to  the  habits  of  the  animal.  It  was  a  cloudless  night; 
and  the  obscure  and  capacious  vault  above  us  showed  its  thousand' 
of  stars,  with  a  brilliancy  unusual  at  this  season.  A  chillinj 
breeze  swept  through  the  darkness  and  fluttered  the  neighborin , 
foliage  with  an  alternately  increasing  and  falling  murmur.  Som. 
of  the  younger  negroes  stood  bareheaded,  with  no  clothing  bi! 
coarse  shirts  and  trowsers,  shivering  amongst  the  crowd,  an-l 
every  now  and  then,  breaking  out  into  exclamations,  in  a  pitch  t! 
voice  that  called  down  the  reproof  of  their  elders.  Ned  commanded 
all  to  be  silent  and  to  seat  themselves  upon  the  ground ;  an 
while  we  remained  in  this  position,  Ben  reappeared  and  canoi 
directly  up  to  the  circle.  He  reported  that  he  had  detected  tli 
object  of  our  quest  near  at  hand ;  and  had  followed  him  throujl 
the  weeds  and  stubble  of  the  adjoining  field,  until  he  had  sec! 
him  take  a  course  which  rendered  it  certain  that  he  had  be( 
sufficiently  alarmed  by  the  rencounter  to  induce  him  to  retire  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  gum.  It  was,  therefore,  Ben's  advi 
that  Ned,  Harvey,  and  myself,  should  take  Carey  as  a  guide,  ai 
et,  as  fast  as  we  could,  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  tree  spok( 
of,  in  order  that  we  might  be  sure  to  see  the  capture ;  and  th 
he  would  remain  behind,  where,  after  a  delay  long  enough  to  all( 
us  to  reach  our  destination,  he  would  put  the  dogs,  which  we' 
now  locked  up  in  the  stable,  upon  the  trail ;  and  then  come  < 
as  rapidly  as  they  were  able  to  follow  the  scent. 

Ben  had  the  reputation  of  being  an  oracle  in  matters  of  woo 
craft ;  and  his  counsel  was,  therefore,  implicitly  adopted.  Cap 
assured  us  that  "  there  was  no  mistake  in  him,"  and  that  we  mig 
count  upon  arriving  at  the  appointed  place,  with  the  utmost  pi 
cision,  under  his  piloting.  We  accordingly  set  forward.  F 
nearly  a  mile  we  had  to  travel  through  weeds  and  bushes ;  ai 
having  safely  accomplished   this,  we  penetrated  into  a  piece 


y 

r 


H' 


WOODCRAFT.  '  '{{)  1 

wanip3^  woodland  that  lay  upon  the  bank  of  the  river.     Our  way 
;as  sufficiently  perplexed  ;  and,  notwithstanding  Carey's  exorbi- 
tant boasting  of  his  thorough  knowledge  of  the  ground,  we  did 
ot  reach  the  term  of  our  march  without  some  awkward  mistakes, 
-such  as  taking  ditches  for  fallen  trees,  and   blackberry  bushes* 
ir  smooth  ground.     Although  the  stars  did  their  best  to  afford 
s  light,  the  thickness  of  the  wood   into  which  we  had  advanced 
rapt  us,  at  times,  in  impenetrable  gloom.     During  this  progress 
re  were  once  stopped    by  Harvey  calling  out,  from  some  twenty 
aces  in  the  rear,  that  it  was  quite  indispensable  to  the  success 
f  the  expedition,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  that  Carey  should 
orrect  a  topographical  error,   into  which   he,  Mr.  Riggs,  found 
imself  very  unexpectedly  plunged ;  "  I  have  this  moment,"  said 
e,  '-  been  seized  by  the  throat  by  a  most  rascally  grapevine  :  and 
.  my  sincere  desire  to  get  out  of  its  way,  I  find   that   another  of 
he  same  tribe  has  hooked  me  below  the  shoulders.      Meantime, 
ay  hat  has  been  snatched  from  my  head  :  and,  in  these  circum- 
tances,  gentlemen,  perhaps  it  is  not  proper  for  me  to   budge  a 
'^ot." 

Notwithstanding  these   embarrassments,  we  at  last  reached 

MO  gum  tree,  and    "halting  in  his  shade, "  if  the  tree  could  be 

piid  to  be  proprietor  of  any  part  of  this  universal  commodity,  pa- 

liently  awaited  the  events  that  were  upon  the  wind.      The  heavy 

illing  dew  had  shed  a  dampness  through  the  air  that  almost  stif- 

ncd  our  limbs  with  cold.       It  was  necessary  that  we  should  re- 

iaiu  silent;    and,  indeed,  the  momentary  expectation  of  hearing 

iir  followers  advance  upon  our  footsteps  fixed  us  in  a  mute  and 

arnest  suspense.     This  feeling  absorbed  all  other  emotions  for  a 

ime :  when  finding  that  they  were  not  yet  afoot,  we  began  to  look 

ound  upon  the  scene,  and  note  the  novel  impressions  it  made  up- 

u  our  senses.     The  wood  miajht  be  said  to  be  vocal  with  a  thou- 

aud  unearthly  sounds  ;  for,  the  wakeful  beings  of  midnight,  that 


402  WOODCRAFT.  j 

inhabit  every  spray  and  branch  of  the  forest,  are  endued  witj 
voices  of  the  harshest  discord.     The  grove,  which  in  daylight  ij 
resonant  with  melody,  is  now  converted  into  a  sombre  theatre  c- 
gibbering  reptiles,  screeching  insects,  and  nigh  thirds  of  melanch(| 
ly  and  grating  cries.     The  concert  is  not  loud,  but  incessant,  aii^ 
invades  the  ear  with  fiendish  notes  :  it  arouses  thoughts  that  mal? 
it  unpleasant  to  be  alone.      Through  the  trees  the  murky  surfac 
of  the  river   was  discernible,  by  the  flickering  reflections  of  tl 
stars,  with  darkness  brooding  over  the  near  perspective.      In  tl 
bosom  of  this  heavy  shadow,  a  lonely  taper  shot  its  feeble  ra 
from  the  cabin  window  of  some  craft  at  anchor ;  and  this  was  r 
fleeted,  in  a  long,  sharp  line,  upon  the  water  below  it.      The  fre. 
ful  beat  of  the  waves  was  heard  almost  at  our  feet ;  and  the  su 
len  plash  of  a  fish,  springing  after  his  prey,  occasionally  reached'; 
with  strange  precision.      Around  us,  the  frequent  crash  ofr( 
ten  boughs,  breaking  under  the  stealthy  footsteps  of  the  maraud 
of  the  wood  that  now  roamed  for  booty,  arrested  our  attention  an 
deceived  us  with  the  thought  that  the  special  object  of  our  sear 
was  momentarily  approaching. 

Still,  however,  no  actual  sign  was  yet  given  us  that  our  huni' 
men  were  on  their  way.      Harvey  grew  impatient,  and  took  ov 
old  guide  to  task  for  having  mistaken  his  course  ;  but  Carey  pc 
sisted  that  he  was  right,  and  that  this  delay  arose  only  from  Bei 
wary  caution  to  make  sure  of  his  game.     At  length,  a  deep-ton' 
and  distant  howl  reached  us  from  the  direction  of  the  house. 

"Big  Ben's  awake  now,"  said  Carey ;    '-that's  Cajsar's  voi<: 
and  he  never  speaks  without  telling  truth." 

We  were  all  attention ;  and  the  tonguing  of  this  dog  was  f 
lowed  by  the  quick  yelping  of  four  or  five  others.       Ned  direct 
Carey  to  seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  tlie  gum  tree,  in  order  that 
might  prevent  the  opossum  from  retreating  into  the  hollow ;  :i 
then  suggested  that  we  should  conceal  ourselves  under  the  nei^i 
boring  bank 


I  W  O  O  D  C  11  A  F  T  .  403 

13y  this  time,  the  cries  of  the  dogs  were  redoubled,  and  indi- 

atcd  the  certainty  of  their  having  fallen  upon  the  track  of  their 

irey.      Carey  took  his  seat,  with  his  back  against  the  opening  of 

^    |he  hollow,  and  we  retired  to  the  bank,  under  the  shelter  of  some 

irge  and  crooked  roots  of  a  sycamore  that  spread  its  bulk  above 

*   )he  water.     Whilst  in  this  retreat,  the  halloos  of  Ben  and  his  as- 

istants,  encouraging  the  dogs,  became  distinctly  audible,  and  grad- 

|ially  grew  stronger  upon  our  hearing.      Every  moment  the  ani- 

oation  of  the  scene  increased  ;    the  clamor  grew  musical  as  it 

welled  upon  the  wind ;    and  we  listened  with  a  pleasure  that  one 

'•    yould  scarce  imagine  could  be  felt  under  sucb  circumstances,  in- 

tantly  expecting  the  approach  of  our  companions.      It  was  im- 

)0ssible  longer  to  remain  inactive ;    and,  with  one  impulse,  wc 

-    iprang  from  our  hiding  place,  and  hurried  to  the  spot  where  we 

!    |iad  left  old  Carey  stationed,  as  a  sentinel,  at  the  door  of  the  de- 

|:oted  quadruped's  home.      At  this  moment,  as  if  through  the  in- 

■    |luence  of  a  spell,  every  dog  was  suddenly  hushed  into  profound 

i  lilence. 

"  They  have  lost  their  way, "  said  Ned,  "or  else  the  animal 
lias  taken  to  the  brook  and  confounded  the  dogs.  Is  it  not  pos- 
sible, Carey,  that  he  has  been  driven  into  a  tree  nearer  home  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  !"  replied  Carey,  "  that  ^possum^s  down  here  in 
ome  of  these  bushes  watching  us.  Bless  you  !  if  the  dogs  had 
reed  him  you  would  hear  them  almost  crazy  with  howling.  These 
possums  never  stay  to  take  a  chase,  because  they  are  the  sorriest 
hings  in  life  to  get  along  on  level  ground  ; — they  sort  of  hobble  ; 
lind  that's  the  reason  they  always  take  off, — as  soon  as  they  see  a 
body, — to  their  own  homes.  You  trust  big  Ben  ;  he  knows  what 
le's  about." 

The  chase,  in  an  instant,  opened  afresh  ;  and  it  was  manifest 
;hat  the  pursuers  were  making  rapidly  for  the  spot  on  which  we 
>tood.      Carey  begged  us  to  get  back  to  our  former  concealment ; 


404  WOODCRAFT. 

but  the  request  was  vain.  The  excitement  kept  us  on  foot,  an 
it  was  with  difficulty  we  could  be  restrained  from  rushing  forwar 
to  meet  the  advancing  pack.  Instead,  however,  of  coming  dow 
to  the  gum  tree,  the  dogs  suddenly  took  a  turn  and  sped,  wit 
urgent  rapidity,  in  a  contrary  direction,  rending  the  air  with  ; 
clamor  that  far  exceeded  any  thing  we  had  yet  heard.  "  "We  hav 
lost  our  chance  !"  cried  Harvey.  "  Here  have  we  been  shiverin 
in  the  cold  for  an  hour  to  no  purpose.  What  devil  tempted  us  t 
leave  Ben?     Shall  we  follow?" 

"  Pshaw,  master  Harvey  !"  exclaimed  the  old  negro, — "don 
you  know  better  than  that  ?  It's  only  some  varmint  the  do^ 
have  got  up  in  the  woods.  When  you  hear  such  a  desperat 
barking,  and  such  hard  running  as  that,  you  may  depend  the  do^ 
have  hit  upon  a  gray -fox,  or  something  of  that  sort,  that  can  gi\ 
them  a  run.  No  Opossum  there  !  Big  Ben  isn't  a  going  to  1( 
Csesar  sarve  him  that  fashion  !" 

Ben's  voice  was  heard,  at  this  period,  calling  back  the  do| 
and  reproving  them  for  going  astray ;  and,  having  succeeded  in 
few  minutes  in  bringing  them  upon  their  former  scent,  the  who] 
troop  were  heard  breaking  through  the  undergrowth,  in  a  dire 
tion  leading  immediately  to  the  tree. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so,  young  masters  !"  exclaimed  Carey. 

"  There  he  is  !  there  he  is  !"  shouted  Ned.  '•  Look  out,  C; 
rey  !  Guard  the  hole  !  He  has  passed.  Well  done,  old  fellow 
I  think  we  have  him  now." 

This  quick  outcry  was  occasioned  by  the  actual  apparition  (: 
the  opossum,  almost  at  the  old  man's  feet.  The  little  animal  ha 
been  lying  close  at  hand ;  and,  alarmed  at  the  din  of  the  a] ' 
proaching  war,  had  made  an  effort  to  secure  his  retreat.  He  can., 
creeping  slyly  towards  the  tree  ;  but,  finding  his  passage  intercep , 
ed,  had  glided  noiselessly  by,  and  in  a  moment  the  moving  and  mi.'! 
ty  object,  that  we  had  obscurely  discerned  speeding  with  an  awli 


3  > 


-■-('.  -r-y 


r% 


\ 


i 


.t .    . 


W  <)  O  D  C  R  A  F  T  . 


405 


ird  motion  through  the  grass,  was  lost  to  view  A  few  seconds 
(ly  elapsed,  and  the  dogs  swept  past  us  with  the  fleetncss  of  the 
Jnd.  They  did  not  run  many  paces  before  they  halted  at  the 
pt  of  a  large  chestnut  that  threw  its  aged  and  ponderous  bran- 
ces  over  an  extensive  surface,  and  whose  distant  extremities  al- 
|)8t  drooped  back  to  the  earth.     Here  they  assembled,  an  eager 


|id  obstreperoua  pack,  bounding  wildly  from  place  to  place,  and 
'oking  up  and  howling,  with  that  expressive  gesture  which  may 
■  seen  in  this  race  of  animals  when  they  are  said  to  be  baying 
e  moon. 

j  This  troop  of  dogs  presented  a  motley  assortment.  There 
jere  two  conspicuous  for  their  size  and  apparently  leaders  of  the 


406  \\'  O  O  D  C  R  A  F  T  . 


Hn 


['m 


mill' 
H 


company, — a  mixture  of  hound  and  mastiff — who  poured  out  thtt 
long,  deep  and  bugle-like  tones,  with  a  fulness  that  was  echo(; 
back  from  the  farthest  shore  of  the  river,  and  which  rang  throuii 
the  forest  with  a  strength  that  must  have  awakened  the  sleepei 
at  the  mansion  we  had  left.     Several  other  dogs  of  inferior  pri 
portions,  even  down  to  the  cross  and  peevish  terrier  of  the  kitchej    t"".^ 
yelped,  with  every  variety  of  note, — sharp,  quick  and  piercing 
the  ear.     This  collection  was  gathered  from  the  negro  families  I 
the  plantation  ;  and  they  were  all  familiar  with  the  discipline 
the  wild  and  disorderly  game  in  which  they   were   engaged, 
distinguished  actor  in  this  scene  was  our  old  friend  Wilful,  wh< 
true  to  all  his  master's  pranks,  appeared  in  the  crowd  with  of 
cious  self-importance,  bounding  violently  above  the  rest,  barkiuj 
with  an  unnecessary  zeal,  and  demeaning  himself,  in  all  respect- 
like    a   gentlemanly,    conceited,    pragmatical    and    good-natuni 
spanial.     This  canine  rabble  surrounded  the  tree,  and,  with  va  ■ 
efforts,  attempted  to  scale  the  trunk,  or  started  towards  the  out: 
circumference,  and  jumped  upwards,  with  an  earnestness  whi( 
showe<l  that  their  sharp  sight  had  detected  their  fugitive  aloft ' 

In   this   scene  of  clamor  and  spirited  assault  Ben  and  oi 
old  groom  were  the  very  masters  of  the  storm.     They  were  to  1 
seen   every  where   exhorting,  cheering    and    commanding   the';  Wk 
howling  subordinates,  and  filling  up  the  din  with  their  own  r 
less  persevering  and  unmeasured  screams.  ' 

'•  Speak  to  him,  Caesar  !"  shouted  Carey  in  a  prolonged  ai; 
hoarse  tone — "  Speak  to  him,  old  fellow  ! — That's  a  beauty  !"    ; 

'•  Howl,  Boson !"  roared  Ben,  to  another  of  the  dogs.- 
"  Whoop  !  Whoop!  let  him  have  it! — sing  out! — keep  it  u 
Flower  !" 

''Wilful  !  you  rascal,*'  cried  Ned.  •'  Mannerly, — keep  quie 
would  you  jump  out  of  your  skin,  old  dog? — quiet,  until  youcj 
do  some  good." 


I  W  O  O  D  C  fl  A  F  T .  407 

A  rustling  noise  was  heard  in  some  of  the  liigher  branches  of 

'    ae  tree,  and  we  became  advised   that   our  besieged  enemy  was 

etaking  himself   to  the   most  probable  place  of   safety.     The 

-    Loon,  in  her  last  quarter,  was  seen  at  this  moment,  just  peering 

:;  pove  the  screen  of  forest  that  skirted  the  eastern  horizon  ;  and 

q     dim  ray  was  beginning  to  relieve  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

:j    "his  aid  came  opportunely  for  our  purpose,  as  it  brought  the  top 

f  the  chestnut  in  distinct  relief  upon  the  faintly  illuminated 

.    iy.     The  motion  of  the  upper  leaves  betrayed  to  Ben  the  posi- 

on  of  the  prey ;  and,  in  an  instant,  he  swung  himself  up  to  the 

rst  bough,  and  proceeded  urgently  upward.     '•  I  see  the  varmint 

.    ere  in  the  crotch  of  one  of  the  tip-top  branches  !"  he  exclaimed 

.     )  us,  as  he  hurried  onward.     "  Look  out  below  !" 

The  terrified  animal,  on  finding  his  pursuer  about  to  invade 
•;  is  place  of  safetj'.  speedily  abandoned  it :  and  we  could  distinctly 
:  ear  him  making  his  way  to  the  remote  extremity  of  the  limb. 
lS  soon  as  he  had  gained  this  point  he  became  visible  to  us  all, 
\  iinging  like  an  excrescence  that  had  grown  to  the  slender  twigs 
,^  hich  sustained  him.  Ben  followed  as  near  as  he  durst  venture 
'ith  his  heavy  bulk,  and  began  to  whip  the  bough  up  and  down, 
,ith  a  vehement  motion  that  flung  the  animal  about  through  the 
ir,  like  a  ball  on  the  end  of  a  supple  rod.  Still,  however,  the 
ay-laid  freebooter  kept  his  hold  with  a  desperate  tenacity. 

During  this  operation  the  dogs,  as  if  engrossed  with  the  con- 
:;mplation  of  the  success  of  the  experiment,  had  ceased  their 
in  ;  and,  at  intervals  only,  whined  with  impatience. 

'•  He  can  never  stand  that,"  said  Harvey,  as  if  involuntarily 
jeaking  his  thoughts.  "  Look  out  !  he  is  falling.  Xo,  he  has 
ived  himself  again  !" 

Instead  of  coming  to  the  ground,  the  dexterous  animal, 
hen  forced  at  last  to  abandon  the  limb,  only  dropped  to  a  lower 
ovation,  where  he  caught  himself  again  amongst  the  foliage,  in 


408  WOODCRAFT. 

a  position  apparently  more  secure  than  the  first.  The  do 
sprang  forward,  as  if  expecting  to  receive  him  on  the  earth  ;  an 
with  the  motion,  uttered  one  loud  and  simultaneous  cry. — Th( 
disappointment  was  evinced  in  an  eager  and  impressive  silenc 
The  negroes  set  up  a  shout  of  laughter  ;  and  one  of  them  ejae, 
lated,  with  an  uncontrolled  merriment, — 

"  'Not  going  to  get  possum  from  top  of  tree  at  one  jump, 
know.  He  come  down  stairs  presently.  Terrible  varmint  i 
grabbing  ! — his  tail  as  good  as  his  hand, — Oh,  oh  !" 

Ben  now  called  out  to  know  how  far  he  had  dropped  ;  afli, 
being  informed,  was  immediately  busy  in  the  endeavor  to  rea 
the  quarter  indicated. 

A  repetition  of  the  same  stratagem,  that  had  been  employ* 
above,  produced  the  same  result;  and  the  badgered  outh 
descended  still  lower,  making  good  his  lodgment  with  a  gra 
instinctively  unerring,  but  now  rendered  more  sure  by  the  fs 
that  threatened  him  below.  This  brought  him  within  fifteen  fc; 
of  the  jaws  of  his  ruthless  enemies. 

The  frantic  howl,  screech,  and  halloo  that  burst  from  d( 
man,  and  boy,  when  the  object  of  their  pursuit  thus  became  d 
tinctly  visible,  and  their  continued  reduplications — breaking  up 
the  air  with  a  wild,  romantic  fury — were  echoed  through! 
lonely  forest  at  this  unwonted  hour,  like  some  diabolical  incan 
tion,  or  mystic  rite  of  fantastic  import,  as  they  have  been  sod 
times  fancied  in  the  world  of  fiction,  to  picture  the  orgies  of 
grotesque  superstition.  The  whole  pack  of  dogs  was  concent 
ted  upon  one  spot,  with  heads  erect  and  open  mouths,  awaiti ; 
the  inevitable  descent  of  their  victim  into  the  midst  of  th; 
array. 

Ben,  indefatigable  in  his  aim,  had  already  arrived  at  the  ju  • 
tion  of  the  main  branch  of  the  tree  with  the  trunk;  and  th(^ 
ui\ited  in  the  general  uproar.     Hazard  now  interposed  and  oo- 


t 


IfltCt: 


I 


WOODCRAFT.  409 

manded  silence  ;  and  then  directed  the  people  to  secure  the  dogs, 
as  his  object  was  to  take  the  game  alive.     This  order  was  obeyed, 
ut  not  without  difficulty ;  and,  after  a  short  delay,  every  do^ 
as  fast  in  hand.     We  took  time,  at  this  juncture,  to  pause.     At 
'Ned's  suggestion,  Wilful  was  lifted  up  by  one  of  the  negroes, 
'^  with  the  assistance  of  Ben,  to  the  first  bough,  which  being  stout 
[enough  to  give  the  dog,  practised  in  such  exploits,  a  foothold, 
hough  not  the  most  secure,  he  was  here  encouraged,  at  this  per- 
lous  elevation,  to  renew  the  assault.     Wilful  crept  warily  upon 
bis  breast,  squatting  close  to  the  limb,  until  he  reached  that  point 
here  it  began  to  arch  downward,  and  from  whence  it  was  no 
onger  possible  for  him  to  creep  farther.     During  this  endeavor 
e  remained  mute,  as  if  devoting  all  his  attention  to  the  safe  ac- 
complishment of  his  purpose  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  gained  the  point 
ibove  mentioned,  he  recommenced  barking  with  unwearied  ear- 
lestness.     The  opossum  began  now  to  prepare  himself  for  his 
last  desperate  effort.     An  active  enemy  in  his  rear  had  cut  off 
lis  retreat,  and  his  further   advance   was  impossible,  without 
iplunging  into  the  grasp  of  his  assailants.     As  if   unwilling  to 
'^'  meet  the  irrevocable  doom,  and  anxious  to  make  the  most  of  the 
'^'  prief  remnant  of  his  minutes, — showing  how  acceptable  is  life 
11  its   most  wretched    category, — the  devoted   quadruped   still 
■r  Irefused  the  horrid  leap  ;  but,  releasing  his  fore  feet,  swung  down- 
yard  from  the  bough,  holding  fast  by  his  hind  legs  and  tail, — 
he  latter  being  endued  with  a   strong  contractile  power  and 
rdinarily  used  in  this  action.     Here  he  exhibited  the  first  signs 
iof  pugnacity ;  and  now  snapped  and  snarled  towards  the  crowd 
'^  Ibelow,  showing  his  long  sharp  teeth,  with  a  fierceness  that  con- 
trasted singularly  with  the  cowering  timidity  of  his  previous 
jbehavior.     In  one  instant  more  Wilful,  as  if  no  longer  able  to 
restrain  his  impatience,  or,  perhaps,  desirous  to  signalize  himself 
Ity  a  feat  of  bravery,  made  one  spring  forward  into  the  midst  of 
IS 


410  WOODCRAFT, 

tlie  foliage  that  hung  around  his   prey,  and  came  to  the  ground^ 
bringing  with  him  the  baffled  subject  of  all  this  eager  pursuit. 

■Ned  seized  Wilful  in  the  same  moment  that  he  reached  the 
earth  ;  and  thus  prevented  him  from  inflicting  a  wound  upon  his 
captive.  The  opossum,  instead  of  essaying  a  fruitless  ejBforti 
to  escape,  lay  on  the  turf,  to  all  appearance,  dead.  One  or  twoj 
of  those  who  stood  around  struck  him  with  their  feet ;  but,  faith- { 
ful  to  the  wonderful  instinct  of  his  nature,  he  gave  no  signs  of] 
animation  ;  and  when  Hazard  picked  him  up  by  the  tail,  and  heldj 
him  suspended  at  arm's  length  with  the  dogs  baying  around  him,! 
the  counterfeit  of  death  was  still  preserved. 

More  with  a  view  to  exhibit  the  peculiarities  of  the  animal  j 
than  to  prolong  the  sport,  Hazard  flung  him  upon  the  ground' 
and  directed  us  to  observe  his  motions.  For  a  few  moments  he 
lay  as  quiet  as  if  his  last  work  had  been  done  ;  and  then  slowly 
and  warily  turning  his  head  round,  as  if  to  watch  his  captors, 
he  began  to  creep,  at  a  snail's  pace,  in  a  direction  of  safety ;  but. 
no  sooner  was  pursuit  threatened,  or  a  cry  raised,  than  he  fell 
back  into  the  same  supine  and  deceitful  resemblance  of  a  lifeless 
bod}'. 

He  was  at  length  taken  up  by  Ben,  who  causing  him  to  grasp 
a  short  stick  with  the  end  of  his  tail,  (according  to  a  commoEi 
instinct  of  this  animal.)  threw  him  over  his  shoulders,  and  prei, 
pared  to  return  homeward. 

It  was  now  near  three  o'clock  ;  and  we   speedily  betook  our- 
selves to  the  mansion,  fatigued  with  the  exploits  of  the  night. 

"  After  all,"  said  Harvey  Riggs,  as  he  lit  a  candle  in  the  hall 
preparatory  to  a  retreat  to   his  chamber,  "  we  have  had  a  great; 
deal  of  toil  to  very  little  purpose.     It  is  a  savage  pleasure  U 
torture   a  little  animal  with  such  an  array  of  terrors,  merel)' 
because  he  makes  his  livelihood  by  hunting.     God  help  us,  Ned 
if  we  were  to  be  punished  for  such  pranks  !" 


WOODCRAFT.  41  1 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  replied  Ned,  "  I  have  some  such  misgiv- 
ings myself  to-night,  and  that's  the  reason  I  determined  to  take 
our  captive  alive.  To-morrow  I  shall  liavc  him  set  at  liberty 
again  ;  and  I  think  it  probable  he  will  profit  by  the  lesson  he 
lias  had,  to  avoid  molesting  the  poultry-yard  !" 


CHAPTER  XLIL 


ONE    ACT    OF    A   FARCE. 


f 


The  next  morning  we  fell  into  a  consultation,  or  rather  resolved 
ourselves'  into  a  committe  of  the  whole,  on  the  subject  of  Ned's 
affairs ;  and  the  result  of  our  deliberation  was.  that  we  should 
forthwith  proceed  to  The  Brakes,  and  there  renew  our  operations 
as  circumstances  might  favor. 

Hazard,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  determined  to  assume  a  - 
more  sapient  bearing  in  his  intercourse  with  Bel,  and  to  dazzle  : 
her  with  a  display  of  learning  and  sentiment.     "  I  will  come  up. ; 
Mark,"  said  he,  "  as  near  as  possible  to  that  model  of  precision 
and  grace,  the  ineffable  Swansdown, — whom  Bel  thinks  one  of  the 
lights  of  the  age." 

Ned;  accordingly,  withdrew  to  make  his  toilet ;  and,  in  due 
time,  reappeared,  decked  out  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  adjusted 
with  a  certain  air  of  fashion  which  he  knew  very  well  how  to  put 
on.  His  cravat,  especially,  was  worthy  of  observation,  as  it  was 
composed  with  that  elaborate  and  ingenious  skill  which,  more 
than  the  regula,tion  of  any  other  part  of  the  apparel,  denotes  a; 
familiarity  with  the  usages  of  the  world  of  dandyism. 

"  I  fancy  this  will  do,"  said  he,  eyeing  his  person,  and  turning 
himself  round  so  as  to  invite  our  inspection.     "  I  think  I  have , 
seized  upon  that  secret  grace  which  fascinates  the  imagination  of 
female  beholders."  1 


ONE     ACT     OF     A     FARCE.  413 

We  agreed  that  nothing  could  be  better. 

"  I  flatter  myself."  he  continued,  pleased  with  the  conceit, 
that  I  shall  amaze  her  to-day.  But  remember,  you  are  not  to 
ugh,  nor  make  any  remaaks  upon  my  conversation.  I  mean  to 
)nduct  this  thing  with  a  sort  of  every  day  ease." 

"  You  may  trust  us,"  said  Harvey,  "  if  you  are  careful  not  to 
,erdo  your  own  play.     Don't  be  too  preposterous." 

Here  ended  all  that  is  necessary  to  be  told  of  the  prelimina- 
ies  to  our  visit,  and  we  now  shift  the  scene  to  the  moment  when 
ir  triumvirate  arrived  at  The  Brakes,  somewhere  about  eleven 
clock. 

We  found  the  ladies  preparing  to  take  a  morning  ride.  Their 
)rses  were  at  the  door,  and  Ralph  was  ready  to  escort  them, 
ur  coming  was  hailed  with  pleasure  ;  and  we  were  immediately 
ilisted  in  their  service.  I  thought  I  could  perceive  some  ex- 
•ession  of  wonder  in  Bel's  face  when  her  eye  fell  upon  Hazard ; 
id  indeed  his  appearance  could  scarcely  escape  remark  from  any 
le  intimately  acquainted  with  him.  His  demeanor  corresponded 
,  his  dress.  Instead  of  the  light,  careless,  cavalier  manner  in 
\n.ch.  he  was  wont  to  address  the  family  at  The  Brakes,  there 
as  an  unsmiling  sobriety  in  his  accost,  and  a  rather  awkward 
avity.  Bel  imputed  this  to  the  coldness  she  had  shown  at 
eir  former  interview  ;  and,  annoyed  by  the  reflection  that  she 
d  unjustly  dealt  with  him,  she  was  now  almost  as  awkward  as 
mself  in  framing  her  deportment  in  such  wise  as  might  convey 
r  regret  for  what  had  passed,  without  absolutely  expressing  it 

language. 

This  desire  on  her  part  favored  our  design,  and  we  had  there- 
re  little  dijficulty,  when  we  came  to  mount  our  horses,  to  des- 
tch  Bel  and  Hazard  in  the  van  of  the  party.  I  immediately 
)k  Catharine  under  my  convoy  ;  and  Harvey  and  Ralph  brought 
>  the  rear. 


I 


414  ONE     ACT     OF     A     FARCE.    . 

For  the  first  fifteen  minutes  our  conversation  was  all  commoi 
place  ;  and  Ned  frequently  looked  round  with  a  droll  expressio 
of  faint-heartedness.     "We  had  chosen  a  road  that  wound  throug 
the  shade  of  a  thick  wood,  and  our  horses'  feet  fell  silently  upo 
the  sand.     In  a  short  time  we  arrived  at  a  piece  of  scenery  ( 
very  peculiar  features.     It  was  an  immense  forest  of  pine,  of  whic 
the  trees,  towering  to  the  height  of  perhaps  a  hundred  feet  c' 
more,  grew  in  thick  array,  shooting  up  their  long  and  sturd 
trunks  to  nearly  their  full  elevation  without  a  limb, — resemblic 
huge  columns  of  a  slaty  hue,  and  uniting  their  clustered  tops  in 
thick  and  dark  canopy.     No  other  vegetation  diversified  the  vie\^ 
even  the  soil  below  exhibited  the  naked  sand,  or  was  sparse] 
covered  with  a  damp  moss,  which  was  seen  through  the  russet  va 
formed  by  the  fallen  and  withered  foliage  of  the  wood.     Th, 
forest  extended  in  every  direction  as  far  as  the  eye  could  pier( 
its  depths, — an  image  of  desolate  sterility ;  and  the  deep  ai , 
quiet  shade  which  hung  over  the  landscape  cast  upon  it  a  mela , 
choly  obscurity.     "Where  the  road  penetrated  this  mass  the  tre-j  ■.,, 
had  been  cut  away  in  regular  lines,  so  as  to  leave,  on  either  sidj 
a  perpendicular  wall  of  mathematical  precision,  made  up  of  va 
pillars  that  furnished  a  resemblance  to  a  lengthened  aisle  in  soe 
enormous  cathedral. 

When  we  entered  into  this  pass,  Bel,  with  her  harebrain' 
cavalier,  was  still  in  advance ;  and  the  rest  of  us  were  ridiug  ii  j 
mediately  after  them  in  one  platoon.  Ned  was  evidently  dauntt  i 
and  by  no  means  played  off  the  bold  game  he  had  threatenenj 
but  an  opportunity  now  arrived,  and  as  if  taking  courage  frdt] 
the  occasion,  he  launched  out  in  a  style  that  took  us  by  surprijj 

Bel  had  remarked  to  him  the  uncommon  character  of  t 
scene,  and  said  that,  from  its  novelty,  it  had  always  been  a  favc) 
ite  spot.     '•  This  place  is  familiar  to  you,"  she  added. — 

"  I  know  each  lane,"  said  he,  quoting  from  Milton,  with  :; 
emphatic  earnestness — 


oneactofafarce.  415 

"  And  every  alley  green, 
Dingle  and  bushy  dell,  in  this  wild  wood." 

"And  every   bosky  bourne,"  said   Harvey,  from   the   rear, 
awling  it  out,  like  a  school-boy  reciting  verses — 

"  From  side  to  side, 
My  daily  walks  and  ancient  neighborhood." 

— "  Hold  your  profane  tongue,  Harvey  !"  said  Ned.     "  It  is 
t  fit  for  such  as  you  to  mar  the  thoughts  of  the  divine  bard  by 
itering  them  in  such  an  irreverent  tone." 
Bel  stared  at  Ned  and  then  smiled. 

"  Riggs,"  continued  Hazard,  "  is  the  most  inveterate  jester  I 

kr  knew.     He  spreads  the  contagion  of  his  levity  into  all  socie- 

For  my  part,  I  think  there  are  scenes  in  nature,  as  there 

8^  passages  in  life,  which  ought  to  repress  merriment  in  the  most 

)ughtless  minds  ;  and  this  is  one  of  them.     Such  a  spot  as  this 

hdles  a  sort  of  absorbing,  superstitious  emotion  in  me  that 

kes  me  grave." 

"  I  observe  that  you  are  grave,"  remarked  Bel. 

"  Since  I  left  college,"  said  Ned,  "  and  particularly  since  my 

It  return  to  Swallow  Barn,  I  have   devoted  a  great  deal  of  my 

le  to  the  study  of  those  sources  of  poetical  thought  and  associa- 

t|n  which  lurk  amongst  the  majestic  landscapes  of  the  country." 

!  "  Hear  that !"  whispered  Harvey  to  me. 

"  I  venerate,"  proceeded  Ned,  '•  old  usages ;  popular  errors 
Ik'e  a  charm  for  my  imagination,  and  I  do  not  like  to  see  them 
dely  reformed.  '  The  superstitious,  idleheaded  eld,'  as  the  poet 
c.ls  it,  has  a  volume  of  delightful  lore  that  I  study  with  rapture. 
J  id  although,  I  dare  say,  you  have  never  observed  my  secret 
(motion  to  such  pursuits. — " 
"  No  indeed  !  I  never  suspected  you  of  it,"  interrupted  Bel. 


0 


416  ONE     ACT     OF     A     FARCE. 

— "  I  have  taken  great  pains  to  preserve  the  race  of  sprite 
and  witches  from  the  ruin  that  threatens  them.     The  poetry 
this  local  mythology,  Bel.  is  always  rich,  and  renders  the  peop 
who  possess  it  not  only  more  picturesque,  but  more  national,  an 
in  many  respects,  more  moral." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Bel,  innocent! 
"  for  I  have  precisely  the  same  opinion." 

"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  Ned.  "  I  did  not  know  there  w 
another  human  being  in  Virginia  who  would  venture  to  i 
knowledge  this." 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  whispered  Harvey  again ;  "  we  shall  he* 
more  anon."  \ 

"  This  belief,"  continued  Ned,  "is,  to  the  ignorant,  a  tangil' 
religion  which  takes  hold  of  the  vulgar  imagination  with  a  sa; 
tary  terror  ;    while  to  cultivated  minds  it  furnishes  treasures 
classical  beauty.     The  ancients  " — 

"  Heaven  preserve  us  !"  said  Harvey,  still  in  a  low  voic 
"  now  for  something  in  the  style  of  parson  Chub." 

Ned  turned  round  and  smiled.  "  The  ancients,  Bel — 1 1 
Harvey  does  not  believe  me — but  the  ancients  stocked  suol  ^| 
place  as  this  with  tutelar  deities :  they  had  their  nymphs  of  1 
wood  and  grove,  of  the  plain,  of  the  hill,  the  valley,  the  founta 
the  river,  and  the  ocean.  I  think  they  numbered  as  many  as  th:. 
thousand.  I  can  hardly  tell  you  their  different  denominatioi 
but. there  were  Oreads  and  Dryads  and  Hamadryads,  Nap(. 
Nereids,  Naiads,  and — the  devil  knows  what  all !" 

"  That  was  a  slip,"  said  Harvey,  aside ;  "  one  more  and  ho 
a  lost  man." 

Bel  opened  her  eyes  with  amazement  at  this  volley  of  lea  • 
ing,  and  not  less  at  the  strange  expletive  with  which  he  cone 
ded,  as  if  utterly  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  meaning  of  this  ,- 
hibition. 


KK 


ONE     ACT     OF     A     FARCE.  417 

"  Our  English  ancestors,"  proceeded  Ned,  "  in  the  most  palmy 

•i    Igeof  their   poetry,  had  their  goblin  and  elf  and  ouphe,  'swart 

liiry  of  the  mine,'  '  blue  meagre  hag,'  and  '  stubborn  unlaid  ghost,' 

-to  say  nothing  of  witch  and  devil.       Our  times,  more  philo- 

;    pphic,  have  sadly  dispeopled  these  pleasure-grounds  of  romance." 

"  Indeed  have  they !"  cried  Bel,  who  was  listening  in  won- 
ering  attention. 

"  You  see  it  every  where,"  added  Ned  ;  "  they  are  gradually 
,riving  away  even  the  few  harmless  wanderers  that,  for  a  century 
ast,  inhabited  such  spots  as  this ;  and  in  a  short  time  we  shall 
ot  have  the  groundwork  for  a  single  story  worth  reading." 

"  Ned  calls  that  sentiment,"  said  Harvey.  "  It  sounds  ama- 
-    ingly  like  a  schoolmaster's  lecture." 

This  remark,  although  intended  only  for  us  in  the  rear,  was 
^erheard  by  both  Ned  and  Bel ;  upon  which  Ned  reined  up  his 
orse,  so  as  to  face  us,  and  burst  out  a-laughing. 

"  I'll  thank  you.  Harvey  Biggs,"  said  he,  "  when  I  am  engag- 
i  in  a  confidential  discourse,  to  keep  your  proper  distance.     I 

0  not  choose  to  have  such  an  impenetrable,  hardened  outlaw  to 
111  the  fascinations  of  romance  and  poetry,  within  hearing." 

"  Indeed,  upon  my  word,  cousin  Harvey  !"  said  Bel,  "  Mr. 
[azard  has  been  contributing  very  much  to  my  edification  " 

1  We  had  now  passed  the  confines  of  the  pine  forest,  and  were 
'llowing  a  road  that  led  by  a  circuit  round  to  The  Brakes,  so  as 
'  approach  the  house  from  the  quarter  opposite  to  that  by  which 
0  had  left  it.  By  this  track  it  was  not  long  before  we  concluded 
ir  ride  and  found  ourselves  assembled  in  the  parlor. 

"  How  did  I  acquit  myself?"  inquired  Ned  of  Harvey  and  my- 
•If,  when  we  were  left  alone. 

"  You  have  utterly  astonished  us  both,"  replied  Harvey  ;  -and, 
hat  is  better,  Bel  is  quite  enchanted.      Where  did  you  get  aU 
lat  nonsense  ?" 
IS* 


418  ONEACTOFAFARCE. 

1 

"  'Gad,  I  once  wrote  an  essay  on  popular  superstitions  !"  an 
swered  Ned,  "  and  had  it  all  at  my  finger-ends.  So,  I  thought . 
would  take  the  chance  of  the  pine  forest  to  give  it  to  Bel."  .' 

"  It  had  a  very  prosy  air,"  said  Harvey.      "  However,  you  ar«! 
on  the  right  track."  '< 

During  the  day  Ned  made  a  great  many  efforts  at  sentiment  | 
but  they  generally  ended  either  in  unmeaning  words  or  dull  dis 
courses,  which  came  from  him  with  a  gravity  and  an  earnestnes; 
that  attracted  universal  remark;  and  by  nightfall,  it  was  admit. 
ted  by  the  ladies,  that  Hazard  had  a  good  deal  of  information  o)' 
topics  to  which  he  was  hitherto  deemed  a  total  stranger,  but  thai 
he  had  certainly  lost  some  of  his  vivacity.  Catharine  said,  "sh. 
was  sure  something  unpleasant  had  occurred  to  him  :  his  manner 
were  strange  ; — she  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  had  some  affai' 
of  honor  on  hand, — for,  he  evidently  talked  like  a  man  who  warn' 
ed  to  conceal  his  emotions.  It  was  just  the  way  with  gentleme ' 
who  were  going  to  fight  a  duel."  i 

Bel  was  also  perplexed.  She  could  not  account  for  it,  excep 
by  supposing  that  he  was  more  deeply  wounded  by  her  conduc 
than  he  chose  to  confess.  It  made  her  unhappy.  In  short,  Ned 
substitution  of  a  new  character  began  already  to  make  him  dul 
and  to  disturb  the  rest  of  the  company. 

When  we  announced  our  intention  to  return  to  Swallow  Barl 
after  tea,  old  Mr.  Tracy  interposed  to  prevent  it.  He  said  h 
had  set  his  heart  upon  a  hand  at  whist,  and  that  we  must  remfiij 
for  his  gratification.  Our  return  was  accordingly  postponed  ;  anj 
when,  at  ten  o'clock,  the  old  gentleman  retired  to  rest,  we  wei 
challenged  by  Harvey  to  a  game  at  brag.  The  consequence  wa^ 
that,  all  unconscious  of  the  flight  of  the  hours,  we  were  found  i 
our  seats  when  the  servants  came  in  the  morning  and  threw  ope 
the  shutters,  letting  in  the  daylight  upon  a  group  of  sallow,  bi 
ious  and  night-worn  faces,  that  were  discovered  brooding  over 


*!-' 


'$f 


0 


•\ 


0M-:     ACT     OF     A     FARCE. 


419 


isorderly  table,  in  the  light  of  two  candles  which  were  flaring  in 
leir  sockets  and  expending  their  substance,  in  overflowing  cur- 
t    snts,  upon  the  board. 

Alarmed  by  this  disclosure,  we  broke  up  the  sitting,  and  were 
lown  by  Ralph  to  our  unseasonable  beds. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


THE     FATE     OF     A     HEP..O. 


Whether  it  was  that  Hazard  was  anxious  to  conceal  from  V 
family  his  last  night's  frolic  ;  or  that  his  thoughts  were  engross-j 
with  the  approaching  crisis  in  his  affairs  ;  or,  perchance,  that  i| 
was  nervous  from  overwatching  during  the  two  previous  nigh,- 
and  unable  to  sleep,  he  rose  early,  and  met  the  family  at  the 
usual  breakfast  time.  Neither  Harvey,  Ralph,  nor  myself,  suff(i 
ed  under  the  same  difficulties,  and,  therefore,  it  was  fully  t(i 
o'clock  before  we  were  seen  in  the  parlour. 

Ned's  mean  was  truly  sad.  He  had  a  haggard  look,  a  stf ; 
nated,  morbid  complexion,  and  blood-shot  eyes.  His  dress,  whi> 
the  day  before  had  been  adjusted  with  such  an  unwonted  prei 
sion,  afforded  now  an  expressive  testimony  of  the  delinquent  in! 
gularity  of  its  wearer.  Nothing  more  infallibly  indicates  thelo: 
nocturnal  revel  than  the  disordered  plight  of  the  dress  the  no 
morning:  a  certain  rakish  air  is  sure  to  linger  about  its  deepen 
folds,  and  betray  the  departure  from  the  sober  usages  of  life. 

Hazard's  manners  corresponded  with  this  unhappy  cxteri<; 
A  certain  lassitude  attended  his  movements,  and  a  pitiful  dej* 
tion  sat  upon  his  visage.       If  he  had  been  master  of  his  own  ; 
tions,  he  would  never  have  risked  the  perilous  fortunes  of  the  d 
in  his  present  shattered  condition  ;  but  a  spell  was  upon  liim.a 


jiw 


|||jl9 

list 

|il01f 


by 


li 


THE     FATE    OF     A     HEIIO.  421 

it  seemed  as  if  fate  bad  decreed  him  to  abide  the  cbance.  He 
jwras  moody  ;  and  conversed  with  the  ladies  with  a  bearing  that 
jimplied  an  abstracted  mind  and  an  alarmed  conscience.  Some- 
|fcimes,  it  is  true,  he  raised  his  spirits  to  a  forced  gaiety,  but  it  was 
manifest,  in  spite  of  this,  that  he  was  disquieted,  pensive,  and  even 
inelancholy.  What  added  to  the  singularity  of  these  phenomena 
vas,  that  while  Catharine  and  Bel  were  yet  in  the  parlour,  he  got 
ip  abruptly,  and  wandered  out  upon  the  lawn,  and  then  took  a 
olitary  ramble  towards  the  river,  where  he  was  observed,  from 
he  windows,  walking  to  and  fro,  absorbed  in  contemplation. 

None  of  these  symptoms  of  a  perturbed  imagination  escaped 
3el,  She  was  exceedingly  puzzled,  and  revolved  in  her  mind  all 
hat  had  lately  passed,  to  ascertain  the  cause.     At  length, — as  it 

Isually  happens  with  women  in  such  cases, — when  she  found  her- 
jlf  unable  to  penetrate  the  mystery,  her  heart  began  to  attune 
self  to  pity.  She  grew  to  be  quite  distressed.  Harvey  read  the 
I'orkings  of  her  thoughts  in  her  face,  and  took  an  opportunity  to 
[raw  her  into  a  private  conference. 

"  My  dear  Bel,  you  see  how  it  is,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head 
jiournfully.  "  Poor  fellow !  I  did'nt  expect  to  see  it  come  to 
ich  an  extremity  as  this." 

"Cousin!  I  pray  you,  what  is  it?"  demanded  Bel. — "You 
arm  me." 

"Ah!"  returned  Harvey,  turning  up  his  eyes,  and  laying  his 
jand  upon  his  breast — '•  It  cannot  be  concealed.  These  are  the 
pry  doleful  doings  of  the  little  Archer.  The  young  gentleman 
i  cruelly  transfixed  ; — he  is  spitted  with  the  bolt,  and  is  ready  to 
e  geared  to  a  smoke-jack,  and  turned  round  and  round  before 
le  fire  that  consumes  him  like  a  roasting  woodcock." 

"  Let  us  have  a  truce  to  jesting,"  said  Bel. — "  And  tell  me, 
jCarvey, — for  indeed  I  cannot  guess  it, — what  ails  Edward 
fazard  ?" 


422  THE    FATE     OF    A   JIERO. 

"  You  would  never  believe  me,"  replied  Harvey,  "  althoug 
I  have  told  you  a  hundred  times,  that  Ned  was  a  man  of  dee- 
and  secret  emotions.  Now,  you  must  perceive  it ;  for  the  fact : 
becoming  too  plain  to  be  mistaken.  I  consider  it  a  misfortur 
for  any  man  who  wishes  to  stand  well  with  a  woman,  to  ha^ 
been  educated  in  habits  of  close  intimacy  with  her.  She  is  ce:, 
tain,  in  that  case,  to  be  the  last  person  to  do  justice  to  h 
merits."  "  -  :' 

"  It  would  be  vanity  in  me,  cousin,"  said  Bel,  "  to  persuac 
myself  that  Edward  Hazard  was  so  much  interested  in  m' 
regard  as  to  grow  ill  on  that  account.  What  have  his  merits  1 
do  with  any  supposed  attachment  to  me  ?" 

"  He  desires  to  be  thought  a  liege  man  to  his  lady,  Bel 
answered  Harvey.     "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Ned's  as  full   ; 
romance  as  you  are  ;  and  I  have  been  looking  to  see  some  extr 
vagance  that  would  defy  all  calculation  :  some  freak  that  wou' 
not  fail  to  convince  even  you  that  the  man  was  on  the  verge 
madness.     And  now,  here  it  is  !  he  has  gone  through  five  degree 
of  love."  • 

"  Five  degrees  !     Pray,  what  are  they?" 

."  The  first  is  the  mannerly  degree :  it  is  taken  at  that  inte 
esting  epoch  when  a  man  first  begins  to  discover  that  a  lady  h; 
an  air,  a  i  oice,  and  a  person  more  agreeable  than  others ;  1 
grows  civil  upon  this  discovery  ;  and  if  he  has  any  wit  in  him 
is  sure  to  appear.  The  next  is  the  poetical  degree ;  it  was  in  th 
stage  that  we  surprised  Ned  upon  the  bank  of  the  river,  whi 
he  was  singing  out  your  name  so  musically,  for  the  cntertainme: 
of  Mark  Littleton.  The  third  is  the  quixotic  love,  and  carri 
a  gentleman  in  pursuit  of  stray  hawks,  and  sets  him  to  breakii 
the  heads  of  saucy  bullies.  The  fourth  is  the  seniimcnlal ;  wh( 
out  comes  all  his  learning,  and  he  fills  his  mistress's  head  wi' 
unimaginable  conceits.     Then  comes  the  liorrihlc  :  you  may  knc, 


I  THEFATEOFAIIERO.  423 

[this,  Bel,  by  a  yellow  cheek,  a  wild  eye,  a  long  beard,  an  unbruslicd 
■coat,  and  a  most  woe-begone,  lackadaisical  style  of  conversation. 
iThis  sometimes  turns  into  the  furious ;  and  then,  I  would  not 
answer  for  the  consequences !  It  strikes  me  that  Ned  looks  a 
little  savage  this  morning." 

"  Cousin,  that  is  all  very  well  said,"  interrupted  Bel.  "  But, 
I  see  none  of  your  degrees  in  Edward  Hazard." 

"  Why,  he  has  not  slept  a  wink  for  two  nights  past,"  said 
Harvey?" 

"  And  pray,  what  prevented  him  from  sleeping  ?" 

"  Thinking  of  you,  Bel !  You  have  been  buzzing  about  in 
his  brain,  like  a  bee  in  his  night-cap.  And  it  stands  to  reason  ! 
neither  man  nor  beast  can  do  without  sleep.  If  he  were  a  rhino- 
ceros he  must  eventually  sink  under  such  privations.  There  he 
jwas,  the  livelong  night,  stalking  about  like  a  spectre  on  the  banks 
I  of  Acheron !" 

I  "  And  you,  Harvey,"  added  Bel,  laughing,  "  were  one  of  the 
Iprincipal  imps  that  stalked  by  his  side.  You  are  not  aware  that 
il  have  been  made  acquainted  with  your  vagaries.  I  happen 
I  to  know  that  you  were  engaged  in  the  refined  and  elegant 
jamusement  of  hunting  an  opossum  all  night,  with  a  band  of  ne- 
groes." 

"  Who  was  so  indiscreet  as  to  tell  you  that !"  asked  Harvey. 
"  I  am  sure  the  story  has  been  marred  in  the  telling  ;  and  there- 
fore, I  will  relate  to  you  the  plain  truth.  Ned  was  uneasy  in 
mind,  and  could  not  close  his  eyes  ;  so,  like  the  prince  in  the 
story-book,  he  summoned  his  followers  to  attend  him  to  the  chase 
in  the  vain  hope  that  he  should  find  some  relief  from  the  thoughts 
that  rankled — " 

"  Irreclaimable  cousin  Harvey  !" 

"  Fact,  I  assure  you  !  Nothing  takes  off  the  load  from  the 
'  mind  like  an  opossum  hunt." 


Ik) 


:il 


424  THE     FATE    .OF     A     HERO. 

"  And  then,  last  night,"  resumed  Bel,  you  were  up  playing  ' 
cards    until  daylight.     That  was  to  chase   away  sorrow  too,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"  Ned  could  not  sleep  last  night  either,"  said  Harvey. 
"  But  Bel,  don't  say  until  daylight.  We  broke  up  at  a  very  rea- 
sonable hour."  \ 

"  I  have  heard  all  about  it,"  answered  Bel.  * 

"  I  admit,"  returned  Harvey,  "  that  appearances  are  a  little 
against  us :  but,  they  are  only  appearances.     If  you  had  seen 
how  Ned  played,  you  would  have  been  satisfied  that  the  game     j 
had  no  charms  for  him ;  for  he  sighed, — swore,  and  flung  away     j 
his  money  like  a  fool.     I  suppose  he  must  have  lost,  at  least,  a .  i 
hundred  dollars."  -  ; 

"  And  with  it,  his  good  looks   and   peace  of  mind  besides,"     { 
added  Bell.     "  Gaming,  fighting  and  drinking  !     Ah.  me  !" 

"  All  for  love,  Bel !  all  for  love  !     It  is  the  most  transmogri- ' 
phying  passion  !"  exclaimed  Harvey.     "  Things  the  most  oppo-:  J;|, 
site  in  nature  come  out  of  it.     Now  tell  me  honestly, — have  you 
not  seen  a  change  in  Ned  that  surprises  you  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  have,"  answered  Bel.  ^ 

"  What  do  you  impute  it  to  ?" 

'•  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know." 

^  Then,  to  be  done  with  this  levity,"  said  Harvey,  "  it  is  what 
1  have  said.  Ned  is  awkward  in  his  zeal  to  serve  you  ;  but  hel 
is  the  truest  of  men.  He  gets  into  all  manner  of  difficulties  on 
your  account,  and  suffers  your  displeasure  like  a  martyr.  He 
talks  of  you  even  in  his  sleep ;  and  grows  tiresome  to  his  friends 
with  the  eternal  repetition  of  your  praises.  It  is  a  theme 
which,  if  you  do  not  put  an  end  to  it,  will  grow  to  be  as  hack- 
nied  as  a  piece  of  stale  politics.  If  you  could  make  it  consist- 
ent, Bel,  with  your  other  arrangements,  I  do  really  think  it  your 
duty  to  put  the  youth  out  of  misery :  for,  he  never  will  be  fit 
company  for  any  rational  man  until  this  infection  is  cured  " 


THE     FATE     OF     A     HERO.  425 

'•  You  would  not  have  mc  marry  a  man  I  do  not  love,"  said 
Belj  gravely. 

'•No,  indeed,  my  dear  Bel,"  returned  Harvey.  "But  I  have 
been  all  along  supposing  you  did  love  him." 

"  You  know  my  objections,"  said  Bel. 

"  I  think  they  were  all  removed  yesterday,"  answered 
Harvey. 

"  If  they  were,  they  have  come  back  again  to-day." 

"  That  shows,"  said  Harvey,  "  what  a  ticklish  thing  is  this 
love.  May  the  saints  shield  me  from  all  such  disasters  as  falling 
in  love !" 

"  Your  prayer  has  been  granted  before  it  was  asked,"  returned 
Bel,  smiling. 

I  Here  ensued  a  pause,  during  which  the  lady  stood  for  some 
Imoments  wrapt  in  thought,  with  her  foot  rapidly  beating  against 
the  floor. 

"  I  do  not  think,"  she  said  at  last,  "  at  least,  I  am  not  alto- 
gether certain,  cousin,  that  I  love  him  well  enough  to" — 
j  "  Faith,  Bel,  I  think  you  come  pretty  near  to  it,"  whispered 
JHarvey  ;  the  longer  you  ponder  over  such  a  doubt,  the  clearer  it 
will  appear. — Drum  it  out  with  your  foot;  that  is  the  true 
Idevice : — Love  is  very  much  a  matter  of  the  nerves  after  all." 

"  I  will  ta,k  no  more !"  exclaimed  Bel,  with  a  lively 
i3motion. 

j  "With  these  words,  she  retreated  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
|3at  down  to  the  piano,  where  she  played  and  sung  as  if  to  drown 
,ier  thoughts. 

During  all  this  while,  the  unconscious  subject  of  this  collo- 
oquy  was  pursuing  his  secret  meditations.  It  is  meet  that  1 
should  tell  my  reader  what  was  the  real  cause  of  the  cloud  that 
5at  upon  his  brow.  In  truth,  he  was  endeavoring  to  screw  his 
Jourage  up  to  a  deed  of  startling  import.     It  was  his  fixed  re- 


426  THE    FATE     OF     A     HERO. 

solve,  when  he  crept  to  his  bed  at  the  dawn,  to  bring  mattemi 
that  very  day,  to  some  conclusion  with  his  mistress  ;  and  thisj 
fancy  took  such  complete  possession  of  his  faculties,  that  hf' 
found  it  in  vain  to  attempt   repose.     His  fortitude  began  tc 
waver  as  the  hour  of  meeting  Bel  drew  nigh,  and  every  momeni, 
shook   the  steadiness  of  his  nerves.     He  cast  a  glance  at  the 
reflection  of  his  forlorn  figure  in  the  glass,  and  his  heart  grev' 
sick  within  him.     As  if  ashamed  of  the  tremor  that  invaded  hi, 
frame,  he  swore  a  round  oath  to  himself — that  come  what  would 
he  would  fulfil  his  purpose.     It  was  in  this  state  of  feeling  tha 
he  appeared  at  breakfast.     Every  instant  the  enterprise  grev 
more  terrible   to  his  imagination ;  until  it  was,  at  last,  arrayei  • 
before  his  thoughts  as  something  awful.     It  is  a  strange  thb. 
that  so  simple  a  matter  should  work  such  effects  ;  and  strange 
still,  that,  notwithstanding  the  painful  sensations  it  excites,  ther 
should  lurk  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart  a  certain  remainder  c 
pleasant  emotion,  that  is  suflScient  to  flavor  the  whole.     Ne 
experienced  this;  and  inwardly  fortified  his  resolution  by  fn; 
quent  appeals  to  his  manhood.     In  such  a  state  of  suspense] 
was  not  to  be  expected  that  he  should  be  n^uch  at  ease  in  cor 
versation.      On  the  contrary,  he  spoke  like  a  frightened  mai 
and  accompanied  almost  every  thing  he  said  with  a  muscula 
effort  at  deglutition,  which  is  one  of  the  ordinary  physical  symj 
toms  of  fear. 

His  walk  by  the  river  side  was  designed  to  reassemble  hi 
scattered  forces ;  an  undertaking  that  he  found  impossible  i 
the  face  of  the  enemy.  They  were  a  set  of  militia-spirits  thf 
could  not  be  brought  to  rally  on  the  field  of  battle.  Havin 
argued  himself  into  a  braver  temper,  he  returned  from  h 
wanderings  and  stalked  into  the  drawing-room,  with  an  ill-coui 
terfeited  composure.  By  a  natural  instinct,  he  marched  i: 
behind  Bel's  chair,  and  for  some  moments  seemed  to  be  absorbc 


THE     FATE     OF     A     HERO.  427 

with  the  music.  After  a  brief  delay,  during  which  the  color 
had  flown  from  his  cheek,  he  crossed  the  room  to  the  window, 
and,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  gazed  out  upon  the  landscape. 
Restless,  uncertain  and  perplexed,  he  returned  again  to  the 
ohair,  and  cast  a  suspicious  and  rueful  glance  around  him. 

flarvey,  observing  how  matters  stood,  silently  tripped  out  of 
the  room. 

Bel  executed  a  lively  air,  and  concluded  it  with  a  brisk  pound- 
ing upon  the  keys ;  and  then  sprang  up,  as  if  about  to  retreat. 

"  Play  on,"  said  Ned,  with  a  husky  voice ;  don't  think  of 
stopping  yet.  I  delight  in  these  little  melodies.  You  cannot 
imagine,  Bel,  how  music  exhilarates  me." 

'•'  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  in  the  room,"  returned  Bel. 
"  What  shall  I  play  for  you?" 

"  You  can  hardly  go  amiss.  Give  me  one  of  those  lively 
j  strains  that  make  the  heart  dance,"  said  he,  with  a  dolorous  ac- 
j  cent,  "  But  you  have  some  exquisite  ballads  too ;  and  I  think 
I  you  throw  so  much  soul  into  them  that  they  are  irresistible.  I 
iwill  have  a  ballad." 

Whilst  he  was  wavering  in  his  choice  she  struck  up  a  waltz. 
I  Ned,  during  this  performance,  sauntered  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
drawing-room ;  and,  having  planted  himself  opposite  a  picture 
that  hung  against  the  wall,  stood  minutely  surveying  it,  with  his 
lips,  at  the  same  time,  gathered  up  to  an  inarticulate  and  thought- 
f  il  whistle.  The  cessation  of  the  music  recalled  him  to  the  piano 
with  a  start ;  and  he  hastened  to  say  to  Bel, — that  there  was> 
something  unspeakably  pathetic  in  these  simple  and  natural  ex- 
pressions of  sentiment ;  that  it  belonged  to  the  ballad  to  strike 
more  directly  upon  the  heart  than  any  other  kind  of  song ;  and 
that,  for  his  part,  he  never  listened  to  one  of  those  expressive 
little  compositions  without  an  emotion  almost  amounting  to  me- 
lancholy. 


428  THE     FATE    OF     A     HERO. 

What  is  he  talking  about  ? — thought  Bel.  She  paused  h 
profound  astonishment :  and  then  asked  him,  if  he  knew  what  i 
was  she  had  been  playing  ? 

"  The  tune  is  familiar  tome."  stammered  Ned.  "  But,  I  hav' 
a  wretched  memory  for  names." 

"  You  have  heard  it  a  thousand  times,"  said  she.  "  It  is  thi 
waltz  in  the  Freyschutz." 

"  Oh,  true  !"  exclaimed  Ned.     "  It  is  a  pensive  thing ;  it  ha 
several  touching  turns  in  it.     Most  waltzes  have  something  of  tha ; 
in  them.     Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Most  waltzes,"  replied  Bel,  laughing,  "  have  a  great  man; 
turns  in  them :  but,  as  to  the  pensiveness  of  the  music,  I  neve  I 
observed  that." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  Ned,  confounded  past  all  hope  of  relief . 
"It  depends  very  much  upon  the  frame  of  mind  you  are  in 
There  are  moods — and  they  come  on  me  sometimes  like  shadows— 
which  predispose  the  heart  to  extract  plaintive  thoughts  from  thi: 
liveliest  strains. — If  there  be  one  desponding  cord  in  the  string, : 
of  the  soul, — that  one  will  begin  to  vibrate — with  a  single  syinj.; 
pathetic  note — that  may  be  hurried  across  it  in  the  rush  of  thr 
gayest  melody. — I  mean, — that  there  is  something  in  all  musii 
that  arouses  mournful  emotions, — when  the  mind  is  pre.disposec ; 
to — ^melancholy." 

As  a  man  who  takes  his  seat  in  a  surgeon-dentist's  chair,  t( 
have  his  teeth  filed,  having  made  up  his  mind  to  endure  th( 
operation,  bears  the  first  application  of  the  tool  with  composure 
but,  feeling  a  sense  of  uneasiness  creeping  upon  him  with  ever} 
new  passage  of  the  file  across  the  bone,  is  hurried  on  rapidly  t(' 
higher  degrees  of  pain  with  every  succeeding  jar — until  at  last  v 
seems  to  him  as  if  his  powers  of  suff"erance  could  be  wound  up  t( 
no  higher  pitch,  and  he  therefore  meditates  an  abrupt  leap  fron 
the  hands  of  the  operator — so  did  Ned  find  himself,  as  he  phmgecj 


THE     FATE     OF     A     HERO.  429 

jsuccessively  from  one  stage  to  the  other  of  the  above-recited 
pxquisite  piece  of  nonsense. 

i  When  he  had  finished,  his  face  (to  use  the  phrase  of  a  novel 
(jyriter)  '  was  bathed  in  blushes  ;'  and  Bel  had  turned  her  chair 
lalf  round,  so  as  to  enable  her  to  catch  the  expression  of  his 
i?ountenance ;  for,  she  began  to  feel  some  misgiving  as  to  the 
soundness  of  his  intellect. 

i  Of  all  the  ordinary  vexations  of  life  it  is  certainly  the  most 
listressing,  for  a  man  of  sense  to  catch  himself  unseasonably 
,alking  like  a  fool,  upon  any  momentous  occasion  wherein 
le  should  especially  desire  to  raise  an  opinion  of  his  wisdom  ; 
luch  as  in  the  case  of  a  member  of  congress  making  his  first 
[ipeech,  or  of  an  old  lawyer  before  a  strange  tribunal,  or,  worse 
j.han  all,  of  a  trembling  lover  before  a  siiperfastidious  mistress. 
|Che  big  drops  of  perspiration  gathered  on  Ned's  brow :  he  felt 
like  a  thief  taken  in  the  mainor  :  he  was  caught  in  the  degree  of 
lack  herinde  and  bloody  hand^  known  to  the  Saxon  Forest  laws, 
jvith  his  folly  on  his  back.  He  could  have  jumped  out  of  the 
iyindow  :  but,  as  it  was,  he  only  ordered  a  servant  to  bring  him 
-  glass  of  water,  and  coughed  with  a  short  dry  cough,  and  swal- 
owed  the  cool  element  at  a  draught. 

As  motion  conduces  to  restore  the  equilibrium  of  the  nerves, 
^ed  now  paced  up  and  down  the  apartment,  with  stately  and 
aeasured  strides. 

"  Courage  !"  said  he,  mentally.  "  I'll  not  be  frightened  !" 
lO,  he  made  another  convulsive  motion  of  the  oesophagus, — such 
s  I  have  seen  a  mischievous,  truant  boy  make,  when  on  his  trial 
efore  the  pedagogue — and  marched  up  directly  behind  Bel. 

All  this  time  she  sat  silent ;  and  taking  the  infection  of  fear 
rem  her  lover,  began  to  cower  like  a  terrified  partridge. 

"  Miss  Tracy,"  said  Ned,  after  a  long  pause,  with  a  feeble, 
remulous  utterance,  accompanied  by  a  heavy  suspiration. 


430  THE    FATE     OF     A     HERO. 

"  Sir—"  j 

"Miss  Tracy" — here  Ned  put  his  hands  upon  the  back,: 
Bel's  chair,  and  leaned  a  little  over  her; — "You, — you — pi- 
very  well, — would  you  favor  me  with  another  song, — if  yl 
please  ?"  j 

"  I  havn't  sung  a  song  for  you,"  replied  Bel.  i 

"  Then,  you  can  do  it,  if  you  would  try."  i 

"  No.     It  would  be  impossible.     I  am  out  of  voice." 

"  So  am  I,"  returned  Ned,  with  comic  perturbation.  "Itj 
strange  that  we  should  both  have  lost  our  voices  at  the  very  ti  ,j 
when  we  wanted  them  most." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  see,"  said  Bel,  blushing,  "any  thing  i- 
traordinary  in  my  not  being  able  to  sing."  j 

"  Well, — I  think  it  very  extraordinary,"  said  Ned,  wit!  i 
dry  laugh  and  an  affected,  janty  air,  as  he  took  a  turn  into  ij) 
middle  of  the  room, — "  that  the  fountains  of  speech  should  ; 
sealed  up,  when  I  had  something  of  the  greatest  importance  ii 
the  world  to  communicate  to  you." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  inquired  Bel. 

"  That  I  am  the  most  particularly  wretched  and  misera  3 
coxcomb  in  the  whole  state  of  Yirginia,"  said  he,  rising  inti 
more  courageous  tone. 

".Your  speech  serves  to  little  purpose,"  muttered  Bel,  "ilt 
be  to  utter  nothing  better  than  that." 

"  I  am  a  boy, — a  drivelling  fool,"  continued  Ned,  very  lit 
like  a  man  who  had  lost  his  power  of  articulation — "  I  am  vej  I 
with  myself,  and  do  not  deserve  to  be  permitted  to  appro;  i 
you." 

Bel  was  covered  with  confusion  ;  and  an  awkward  silence  n ' 
intervened,  during  which  she  employed  herself  in  turning  o  ' 
the  leaves  of  a  music-book. 

"Do  you  relent,  Bel?"  said  Ned,  in  a  soft  and  bcsccchi; 


I 


THE     FATE     OF     A     HERO.  431 

accent.  "  Have  you  thought  better  of  the  proposition  I  made 
you  a  year  ago?  Do  you  think  you  could  overcome  your 
toruples  ?" 

'  Bel,  somewhat  startled  by  these  tender  tones,  withdrew  her 
jyes  from  the  music-book,  and  slowly  turned  her  head  round  to 
(ihe  direction  of  the  voice.  There,  to  her  utter  amazement,  was 
jier  preposterous  lover  on  one  knee,  gazing  pitifully  in  her  face. 

It  is  necessary  that  I  should  stop  at  this  interesting  moment, 
:o  explain  this  singular  phenomenon  ;  for,  doubtless,  my  reader 
joncludes  Ned  to  be  the  veriest  mountebank  of  a  lover  that  ever 
;ampered  with  the  beautiful  passion. 

It  is  common  to  all  men,  and,  indeed,  to  all  animals,  when 
5ore  perplexed  with  difficulties,  to  resort  for  protection  to  the 
Btrongest  instincts  nature  has  given  them.  Now,  Ned's  predomi- 
bating  instinct  was  to  retreat  behind  a  jest,  whenever  he  found 
|;hat  circumstances  galled  him.  For  some  moments  past  he  had 
been  brightening  up,  so  that  he  had  almost  got  into  a  laugh, — 
iiot  at  all  dreaming  that  such  a  state  of  feeling  would  be  unpro- 
bitious  to  his  suit ;  and  when  he  arrived  at  the  identical  point  of 
(lis  wooing  above  described,  he  was  sadly  at  a  loss  to  know  what 
step  to  take  next.  His  instinct  came  to  his  aid,  and  produced 
-he  comic  result  I  have  recorded.  It  seemed  to  strike  him  with 
hat  deep  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  that  is  apt  to  take  possession 
!)f  a  man  who  seriously  makes  love ;  and  the  incorrigible  wight, 
therefore,  reckless  of  consequences,  dropped  upon  his  knee, — one- 
fenth  part  in  jest,  and  nine-tenths  in  earnest.  It  was  well  nigh 
plowing  him  sky  high  ! 

"  Is  this  another  prank,  Mr.  Hazard  ?"  said  Bel. — "  Am  I  to 
|)e  for  ever  tortured  with  your  untimely  mirth  ?  How, — how  can 
fOVL  sport  with  my  feelings  in  this  way !"  Here  she  burst  into 
fears ;  and,  putting  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  the  drops  were  seen 
rickling  through  her  fingers. 


432  .     THE     FATE     OF     A     HERO. 

Ned  suddenly  turned  as  pale  as  ashes.     "  By  all  that  is  h  j 
nest  in  man  !"  he  exclaimed — and  then  ran  on  with  a  list  of  1ot€j 
like  abjurations,  vowing  and  protesting,  in  the  most  passiona 
terms — according  to  the  vulgar  phrase,  "by  all  that  was  black  ar; 
blue," — that  he  was  devoted  to  his  mistress,  body  and  soul.     N 
ver  did  there  rush  from  an  opened  flood-gate  a  more  impetuo* 
torrent  than  now  flowed   from  his  heart  through  the  channel  i 
his  lips.  He  was  hyperbolically  oratorical ;  and  told  her,  amongj 
other  things,  that  she  "  was  the  bright  luminary  that  gilded  h 
happiest  dreams." 

"  I  have  not  deserved  this  from  you,"  said  Bel,  whose  emotio 
were  too  violent  to  permit  her  to  hear  one  word  of  this  vel 
ment  declaration.  "  At  such  a  moment  as  this,  you  might  ha: 
spared  me  an  unnecessary  and  cruel  jest."  j 

She  arose  from  her  seat  and  was  about  to  retire ;  but  Nc; 
springing  upon  his  feet  at  the  same  time,  took  her  by  the  ha 
and  detained  her  in  the  room. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Bel !"  he  ejaculated,  '-  what  have  I  don  ■ 
Why  do  you  speak  of  a  jest  ?  Never  in  my  life  have  my  feelic 
been  uttered  with  more  painful  earnestness  !" 

"  I  cannot  answer  you  now,"  returned  Bell,  in  a  tone  of  affl 
tion  ;  "  leave  me  to  myself." 

"  Isabel  Tracy  !"  said  Ned,  dropping  her  hand,  as  he  assum 
a  firm  and  calm  voice,  "you  discard  me  now  for  ever.  You  fli 
me  back  upon  the  world  the  most  wretched  scapegrace  that  e^ 
hid  himself  in  its  crowds." 

"  I  neither  promise  nor  reject,"  said  Bel,  beginning  to  trcml 
at  Ned's  almost  frenzied  earnestness.  "  If  I  have  mistak 
your  temper  or  your  purpose,  you  have  yourself  to  blame.  It 
not  easy  to  overcome  the  impressions  which  a  long  intercou) 
has  left  upon  my  mind.  You  have  seemed  to  me,  heretofo 
indifi"crent  to   the  desire  to  please.      You  have  taught   me 


I  THE     FATE     OF     A     HERO.  433 

liink  lightly  of  myself,  by  the  little  value  you  appeared  to  place 
ipon  my  regards.  You  have  jested  when  you  should  have  been 
srious,  and  have  been  neglectful  when  I  liad  a  right  to  expect 
itention.  You  have  offended  my  prejudices  on  those  points 
liat  I  have  been  accustomed  to  consider  indispensable  to  the 
jan  I  should  love.  You  will  not  wonder,  therefore,  that  I  should 
jisconceive  your  conduct.  I  must  have  a  better  knowledge  of 
|)u  and  of  my  own  feelings,  before  I  can  commit  myself  by  a 
omise.     Pray,  permit  me  to  retire." 

This  was  uttered  with  a  sedate  and  womanly  composure  that 
rbade  a  reply,  and  Bel  left  the  room. 

Hazard  was  thrown,  by  this  scene,  into  a  new  train  of  sensa- 
DDS.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  brought  to  compre- 
md  the  exact  relation  he  held  to  his  mistress.  He  had  no  fur- 
|.er  purpose  in  remaining  at  The  Brakes  ;  and  he  and  I,  accord- 
Igly,  very  soon  afterwards  set  out  for  Swallow  Barn. 
I  We  discussed  fully  the  events  of  the  morning  as  we  rode 
long ;  and,  upon  the  whole,  we  considered  this  important  love- 
"  fair  to  have  passed  through  its  crisis,  and  to  rest  upon  auspi- 
Dus  grounds.  This  conclusion  arose  upon  Ned's  mind  in  a 
ousand  shapes : 

— "  I  have  got  a  mountain  off  my  shoulders,"  said  he ;  "I 
a  unpacked  ;  and  feel  like  a  man  who  has  safely  led  a  forlorn 
'pe  I  would  fight  fifty  Waterloos,  rather  than  go  through  such 
Ithing  again  !  Egad  !  I  can  sing  and  laugh  once  more.  Bel's  a 
pman  of  fine  sense,  Littleton.  She  is  not  to  be  trifled  with, 
aith,  I  stand  pretty  fairly  with  her,  too  !  It  is  certainly  no  re- 
^al :  '  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady.'  A  lover  to  thrive  must 
'|me  up  boldly  to  the  charge.  But,  after  all,  I  was  considerably 
ittered — not  to  say  most  unspeakably  alarmed." 

These,  and^many  more  such  fragments  of  a  boasting,  doubtful 
ijd  self-gratulating  spirit,  burst  from  him   in   succession;  and 
19 


434  THE     FATE     OF     A    HERO.. 

were,  now  and  then,  accompanied  with  lively  gesticulations  ( 
horseback,  which  if  a  stranger  could  have  seen,  they  would  ha 
persuaded  him  that  the  performer  was  either  an  unhappy  mort* 
on  his  way  to  the  madhouse,  or  a  hapny  lover  on  the  way  from  h 
mistress. 


% 


f 


t 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


ORATOR  Y. 


As    some    adventurous     schoolboy,    who,    having    but    lately 
jlearned  to  swim,  has  gone,  upon  a  fair  summer  evening,  to  the 
jriver  hard  by,  to  disport  himself  in  the  cool  and  limpid  wave,  so 
■did  I  first  sit  down  to  write  this  book.     And  as  that  same  urchin, 
all  diffident   of  his   powers,  has    never  risked   himself  beyond 
ithe  reach   of  some   old.  stranded  hulk,  not  far   from    shore  ; 
jbut  now,  enchanted  by  the  fragrance  of  the  season,  by  the  golden 
jind  purple-painted  clouds,  and  by  the  beauty  of  the  wild-flowers 
[that  cluster  at  the  base  of  the  shady  headland  on  the  farther  side 
Df  a  narrow  cove  ;  and  incited  by  the  jollity  of  his  boyhood,  and 
seduced  by  the  easy,  practick  eloquence  of  a  heedless,  good-na- 
iured  playfellow,  he  has  thoughtlessly  essayed  to  reach  the  pleas- 
ant promontory  which  he  has  gained  in  safety,  albeit,  faint-hearted 
and  out  of  breath  : — so  have  I  waywardly  ventured  on  the  tide 
!)f  Ned's  courtship  ;  but,  having  reached  such  a  sheltered  head 
and,  do,  in  imitation  of  my  daunted  schoolboy,  here  break  up 
iiy  voyage ;  like  him,  thinking  it  safest  to  get  back  by  trudging 
'ound  the  pebbly  margin  of  the  cove. 

I  In  other  words,  I  esteem  myself  lucky  in  having  followed 
jSTed's  love-affair  into  a  convenient  resting-place,  where  I  am 
villing,  at  least  for  the  present,  to  leave  it ;  and  shall  indeed  be 


"i 


436  ORATORY. 

thankful  if  no  future  event,  during  my  sojourn  at  Swallow  Barn^' 
shall  impose  upon  me  the  duty  of  tracing  out  the  sequel  of  this^ 
tortuous  and  difficult  history.     For  wisely  has  it  been  said,  "  that' 
the  current  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth  ;" — to  me  it  seemst 
that  its  path  is  like  that  of  the  serpent  over  the  rock.     And  thatj 
chronicler  shall  have  reason  to  count  himself  sadly  tasked,  whose 
lot  it  may  be  to  follow  the  lead  of  a  capricious  maiden  wheresoeveij 
it  shall  please  her  fickleness  to  decoy  her  charmed  and  fretful] 
lover.     Little  did  I  dream,  when  I  came  to  the   Old  Dominior: 
and  undertook  to  write  down  the  simple  scenes  that  are  acted  ir 
a  gentleman's  hall,  I  should,  in  scarce  a   month    gone  by,  finCj 
myself  tangled  up  in  a  web  of  intricate  love-plots  which  shouloj 
so  overmatch  my  slender  powers  !     But  I  have  borne  me  like  i\ 
patient  and  trusty  historian,  through  the  labyrinth  of  my  story  j 
and  now,  right  gladly,  escape  to  other  matters  more  german  to  m^/ 
hand. 

To  say  nothing,  then,  of  the  manner  in  which  Ned  Hazar( 
bore  his  present  doubtful  fortune,  nor  what  resolves  he  took  ii 
this  emergency ;  nor  even  dwelling  upon  his  frequently  repeats 
visits  to  The  Brakes,  during  which,  I  rejoice  to  think,  nothin, 
especially  worthy  of  note  occurred,  I  pass  over  some  days,  in  ordc 
that  I  may  introduce  a  new  scene. 

Meriwether,  one  night  when  we  were  about  to  retire  to  res 
suggested  to  Ned  and  myself, — and  the  suggestion  was  made  ha' 
in  the  tone  of  a  request,  implying  that  he  would  be  pleased  if  w 
adopted  it, — that  we  might  have  an  agreeable  jaunt  if  we  woul 
consent  to  accompany  him,  the  next  morning,  in  his  ride  to  tii 
Quarter.  Now,  this  Quarter  is  the  name  by  which  is  familiarly 
known  that  part  of  the  plantation  where  the  principal  negro  popij 
lation  is  established, 

"  You,  doubtless,  Mr.  Littleton,"  said  he,  "  take  some  intere; 
in  agricultural  concerns.     The  process  of  our  liusbanbry, — slovei 


ORATORY.  437 

y  to  be  sure, — may,  nevertheless,  be  worthy  of  your  observation. 
3ut  I  can  add  to  your  amusement  by  showiDg  you  my  blooded 
■olts,  which,  it  is  not  vanity  to  affirm,  are  of  the  finest  breed  in 
Virginia  ;  and  when  I  say  that, — it  is  equivalent  to  telling  you 
hat  there  is  nothing  better  in  the  world." 

'  Here  Meriwether  paused  for  a  moment,  with  that  thoughtful 
xpression  of  countenance  which  indicates  the  gathering  up  of 
ne's  ideas ;  then  changing  the  tone  of  his  voice  to  a  lower  key, 
ie  continued, — 

"  The  improvement  of  the  stock  of  horses, — notwithstanding 
his  matter  is  undervalued  in  some  portions  of  our  country, — I 
cgard  as  one  of  the  gravest  concerns  to  which  a  landed  proprietor 
nn  devote  his  attention.  The  development  of  the  animal  perfec- 
Lons  of  this  noble  quadruped,  by  a  judicious  system  of  breeding, 
equires  both  the  science  and  the  talent  of  an  accomplished  na- 
juralist.  We  gain  by  it  symmetry,  strength  of  muscle,  soundness 
f  wind,  ease  of  action,  speed,  durability,  power  of  sustaining 
litigue,  and  fitness  for  the  multiform  uses  to  which  this  admirable 
east  is  subservient.  What,  sir,  can  be  more  worthy  of  some 
ortion  of  the  care  af  a  patriotic  citizen  ?  But  look,  my  dear  sir, 
t  the  relation  which  the  horse  holds  to  man.  We  have  no  record 
ji  history  of  an  age  wherein  he  has  not  been  intimately  connected 
'ith  the  political  and  social  prosperity  of  the  most  powerful  and 
ivilized  nations.  He  has  always  assisted  to  fight  our  battles,  to 
ear  our  burthens,  to  lighten  our  fatigues,  and  to  furnish  our 
absistence.  He  has  given  us  bread  by  tillage  and  meat  by  the 
'base.  He  has  even  lodged  in  the  same  homestead  with  his  mas- 
3r  man,  frequently  under  the  same  roof  He  has  been  accustomed 
)  receive  his  food  from  our  hands,  and  to  be  caressed  by  our 
iindness.  We  nurse  him  in  sickness,  and  guard  him  in  health. 
Ie  has  been,  from  one  age  to  another,  the  companion  of  the 
arrior  at  home,  his  trusty  friend  in  travel,  and  his  sure  auxiliary 


i\ 

iii 


438  ORATORY. 

and  defence  in  battle.     What  more  beautiful  than  the  sympath;] 
between  them  ?  when  the  cockles  of  his  master's  heart  rise  up  a.    ¥ 
the  sound  of  distant  war,  he  neighs  at  the  voice  of  the  trumpel 
and  shakes  his  mane  in  his  eagerness  to  share  the  glory  of  th 
combat." 

Frank  had  now  got  to  striding  backward  and  forward  throug 
the  room  ;  and,  at  this  last  flourish,  came  up  to  the  table,  wher 
he  stood  erect ;  then,  in  that  attitude,  went  on. 

"  And  yet, — however  martial  his  temper, — he  will  amble  gentli 
under  the  weight  of  the  daintest  dame,  and  yield  obedience  tohfj 
tender  hand  and  silken  rein.  I  have  horses  in  my  stable  no^i 
that,  in  the  field  upon  a  chase,  will  champ  their  bits,  and  boun; 
with  an  ardor  which  requires  my  arm  to  check;  whilst  thesan 
animals,  at  home  here,  are  as  passive  to  Lucretia's  command  as  j  .  i- 
lady's  pony." 

"  You  say  so,"  interrupted  my  cousin  Lucretia,  "  but,  indee 
Mr.  Meriwether,  1  do  not  like  to  ride  these  blooded  horses !" 

Meriwether  continued,  without  heeding  the  interruption : 

— "  The  horse  has  a  family  instinct,  and  knows  every  memb 
of  the  household :    he  recognizes  his  master's  children  when  th( 
come  to  his  stall,  and  is  pleased  to  be  fondled  by  them.       The 
see  how  faithfully  he  drudges  in  the  field,  and  wears  away  hisEj  ■ 
in  quiet  and  indispensable  services.     I  venerate  the  steady  sobi' 
ety  of  the  robust,  broad-chested,  massive-limbed  wagon-horse,  th 
toils   without   repining,  through  the  summer  heats  and  wint 
snows.     I  contemplate,  with  a  peculiar  interest,  the  unremittii 
labor  of   the    stage-horse,  as    he  performs  his  daily  task   wi , 
unrelaxed  speed,  from  one  year's  end  to  another :  and, — you  mr!    "i 
smile  at  it, — but  I  have  a  warm  side  of*my  heart  for  the  thougl 
ful  and  unobtrusive  hack  that  our  little  negroes  creep  along  wi 
to  mill.      But,  above  all,  where  do  you  find  such  a  picture  of  j 
tienoe,   considerateness,   discretion,  long-suficring,  amiable  ol 


I 


ORATORY.  439 

Jience,  (here  Frank  began  to  smile.)  as  in  the  faithful  brute  that 
bears  his  master, — say  a  country  doctor,  for  example,  or  a  deputy 
sheriff,  or  one  of  your  weather-beaten,  old,  tippling, — (at  each  of 
these    epithets    the   orator   laughed)    gossipping.   night-wander- 

ing » 

"  Noctua  bundusP  said  Mr.  Chub,  who  was  sitting  all  the  time 
■it  one  of  the  windows. — 
I      — "  Right !"  replied  Meriwether;  turning  towards  the  parson 

;■•    and    waving    his   hand, — '•  night-wandering  politicians  %    I  say, 

vvhere  is  there  a  finer  type  of  resignation,  christian  resignation, 

han  in  the  trusty  horse  that  bears  such  a  master,  through  all  sea- 

Hons,  no  matter  how  inclement, — fast,  without  refusing,  and  slow? 

Without   impatience, — for  hours  together ;  and  then  stands,  per- 

laps, — as  I  have  often  seen  him, — with  his  rein  fastened  to  a  post 

br  to  a  fence  corner,  without  food  or  drink ;  and,  as  likely  as  not, 

for  he  is  subject  to  all  discomforts.)  facing  a  drifting  snow  or  a 

)elting  hail-storm,  for  the  livelong  day  ;    or  through  the  dreary 

ratches  of  the  night,  solitary,  silent,  unamused,  without  one  note 

f  discontent ;    without  one  objurgatory  winnow  to  his  neglectful 

laster  ?     And  then,  at  last,  when  the  time  arrives  when  he  is  to 

leasure  his  homeward  way,  with  what  a  modest  and  grateful  un- 

lertone  he  expresses  his  thanks  !       The  contemplation  of  these 

aoral  virtues  in  the  horse,  is  enough  to  win  the  esteem  of  any 

lan  for  the  whole  species.     Besides,  what  is  a  nation  without  this 

xcellent  beast  %      What  machinery  or  labor-saving  inventions  of 

|ian  could  ever  compensate  him  for  the  deprivation  of  this  faith- 

iil  ally  ?"— 

I  do  not  know  how  long  Meriwether  would  have  continued 
lis  laudatory  oration,  for  he  was  every  moment  growing  more  elo- 
laent,  botb  in  manner  and  matter,  and,  no  doubt,  would  very 

s|    j)on  have  struck  out  into  some  episodes  that  would  have  carried 
'    'im  along,  like  a  vessel  caught  up  in  the  trade  winds,  had  not  my 


440 


ORATORY. 


cousin  Lucretia  warned  him  that  it  was  growing  too  late  for  so" 
promising  a  discourse  ;  which  having  the  efifect  to  bring  him  to  a  \ 
stop,  I  availed  myself  of  the  opportunity  to  say,  that  I  should  be 
highly  gratified  with  the  proposed  ride.     So  did  Ned.  i 

'•  Then."  said  he,  "  remember  I  ride  at  sunrise :  Lucretia  wilJi 
give  us  a  cup  of  coffee  before  we  set  out.  Be  up,  therefore,  at  the! 
crowing  of  the  cock  !"  [ 


'f.i 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


STABLE     ^^'■ISDOM. 


Almost  with  the  first  appearance  of  light,  Merifrether  came 
and  knocked  at  our  chamber  doors,  so  earnestly  that  the  whole 
household  must  have  been  roused  by  the  noise.  Our  horses  could 
be  heard  pawing  the  gravel  at  the  front  door,  impatient  of  delay. 
jThe  sun  was  scarcely  above  the  horizon  before  we  were  all  mount- 
jed  and  briskly  pursuing  our  road,  followed  by  Carey,  who  seem- 
jed,  on  the  present  occasion,  to  be  peculiarly  charged  with  profes- 
jsional  importance. 

The  season  was  now  advanced  into  the  first  week  of  August : 
la  time  when,  in  this  low  country,  the  morning  air  begins  to  grow 
[sharp,  and  to  require  something  more  than  the  ordinary  summer 
'clothing.  The  dews  had  grown  heavier  ;  and  the  evaporation 
produced  that  chilling  cold  which  almost  indicated  frost.  There 
,was,  however,  no  trace  of  this  abroad ;  but  every  blade  of  grass, 
■and  every  spray  was  thickly  begemmed  with  dewdrops.  The  tall 
and  beautiful  mullen,  which  suggested  one  of  the  forms  of  the 
stately  candelebra — almost  the  first  plant  that  puts  forth  in  the 
spring,  and  amongst  the  first  to  wither — was  now  to  be  seen 
marshalled  in  groups  over  the  fallows,  with  its  erect  and  half-dried 
spire  hung  round  with  that  matchless  jewelry,  which  the  magic 
hand  of  night  scatters  over  the  progeny  of  earth.  .  The  fantastic 
19* 


1 


442  STABLE     WISDOM. 

spider-webs  hung  like  fairy  tissues  over  every  bush,  and  decked 
with  their  drapery  every  bank ;  whilst  their  filaments,  strung  with 
watery  beads,  and  glittering  in  the  level  beams  of  the  sun,  render 
ed  them  no  longer  snares  for  the  unwary  insects  for  which  they 
were  spread.  Our  road  through  the  woods  was  occasionally  way 
laid  by  an  obtrusive  pine-branch  that,  upon  the  slightest  toucL 
shook  its  load  of  vapor  upon  our  shoulders,  as  we  stooped  beneatti 
it.  The  lowing  of  cows  and  the  bleating  of  sheep  struck  upot 
our  ear  from  distant  folds  ;  and  all  the  glad  birds  of  summer  were 
twittering  over  the  woodland  and  open  plain.  The  rabbit  leapec 
timidly  along  the  sandy  road  before  us,  and  squatted  upon  his 
seat,  as  if  loth  to  wet  his  coat  amongst  the  low  whortleberry  anc 
wild-indigo  that  covered  the  contiguous  soil. 

Emerging  from  the  forest,  a  gate  introduced  us  to  a  broaci 
stubble-field,  across  whose  level  surface,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile] 
we  could  discern  the  uprising  of  several  thin  lines  of  smoke,  tha* 
formed  a  light  cloud  which  almost  rested  on  the  earth ;  and,  uni 
der  this,  a  cluster  of  huts  was  dimly  visible.  Near  these,  an  e; 
tensive  farm-yard  surrounded  a  capacious  barn  together  with  some 
fodder-houses  and  stacks  of  grain,  upon  which  were  busily  em 
ployed  a  number  of  laborers,  who,  we  could  see,  were  building  uj 
the  pile  from  a  loaded  wagon  that  stood  close  by. 

As  we  advanced,  a  range  of  meadows  opened  to  our  view,  ant 
stretched  into  the  dim  perspective,  until  the  eye  could  no  longei 
distinguish  their  boundary.  Over  this  district,  detached  herd.' 
of  horses  were  observable,  whisking  their  long  tails  as  they  grai': 
ed  upon  the  pasture,  or  curvetting  over  the  spaces  that  separatee 
them  from  each  other. 

"  There  !"  said  Meriwether,  kindling  up  at  the  sight  of  this 
plain,  "  there  is  the  reward  I  promised  you  for  your  ride.  I 
have  nothing  better  to  show  you  at  Swallow  Barn.  You  see,  or 
yonder   meadow,  some   of   the   most   unquestioned   nobility  ol, 


h,!'  Mill. 


.  «        .  .  C  r  c 

»  e  »  • 


STABLE     WISDOM.  443 

Virginia.     Not  a  hoof  stays  on  that  pasture,  that  is  not  warmed 
by  as  pure  blood  as  belongs  to  any  potentate  in  the  world." 

Carey  rode  up  to  us,  at  this  speech,  to  observe,  as  I  suppose, 
the  eflfect  which  his  master's  communication  might  have  upon 
me ;    for  he  put  on  a  delighted  grin,  and  said   somewhat   offi- 
|ciously — 

"  I  call  them  my  children,  master  Littleton." 
j       "  Truly  then,  Carey,  you  have  a  large  family,"  said  I. 

"  They  are  almost  all   on  'em,  sir,"  replied  Carey,  "  straight 

down  from  old  Diomed,  that  old  master  Hoomes  had  fotcli  out 

{from  England,  across  the  water  more  than  twenty  years  ago. 

Sir  Archy,  master  Littleton,  was  a  son  of  Old  Diomed,  and  I 

i  can't  tell  you  how  many  of  his  colts  I've  got.     But,  sir,  you  may 

I  depend  upon  it,  he  was  a  great  horse  !     And  ihar  was  Duroc, 

j  master!     You've  hearn  on  him? — I've  got  a  heap  of  colts  of 

Duroc's. — Bless  your  heart !  he  was  another  of  old  Diomed's." 

"  Carey  is  a  true  herald,"  said  Meriwether.  "  Nearly  all  that 
you  see  have  sprung  from  the  Diomed  stock.  It  is  upwards  of 
1  forty  years  since  Diomed  won  the  Derby  in  England.  He  was 
brought  to  this  country  in  his  old  age  ;  and  is  as  famous  amongst 
us,  almost,  as  Christopher  Columbus  ;  for,  he  may  be  said  to  have 
founded  a  new  empire  here.  Besides  that  stock,  I  have  some  of 
the  Oscar  breed  ;  one  of  the  best  of  them  is  the  gelding  I  ride. 
You  may  know  them,  wherever  you  see  them,  by  their  carriage 
and  indomitable  spirit." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  I, — "  but  I  have  heard  a 
great  deal  said  of  the  Grodolphin  Arabian." 

"  I  can  show  you  some  of  that  breed,  too,"  replied  Meriwe- 
ther,— "  Wildair,  who  I  believe  was  a  grandson  of  the  Arabian." 

"  Old  Wildair — mark  you,  master  !"  interrupted  Carey,  very 
sagely,—"  not  Col.  Symmes'  Wildair." 

"  Old  "VVildair,  I  mean."  rejoined  Frank. — "  He  was  imported 


Ml 


444  STABLE     WISDOM. 

into  Maryland,  and  taken  back  to  England  before  the  Revolu- 
tion : — but  I  have  some  of  his  descendants." 

"  And  thar's  Regulus's  breed,"  said  Carey,     "  They  tell  me 
he  was  genuine  Arabian  too.  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,  returned  Meriwether,    "  that  I  have  any 
of   that   breed. — Carey  affects    to   say  that   there   are  some  of  j 
them  here." 

"  Bless  your  soul !  master  Frank,"  interrupted  the  old  groom,  =, 
— "  didn't  I  carry  the  Ace  of  Diamonds,  over  here  to  the  Bowl- 
ing Grreen,  that  next  summer  coming  after  the  war,  to — " 

"  Bide  on  and  open  the  gate  for  us,"  said  Frank. — "  Set  that  -j 
old  negro  to  talking  of  pedigrees,  and  his  tongue  goes  like  a 
mill!" 

We  now  entered  upon  the  meadow,  and  soon  came  up  with 
several  of  the  beautiful  animals  whose  ancestry  had  been  the  j 
subject  of  this  discussion.     They  were  generally  in  the  wild  and     |j 
unshorn  condition  of  beasts  that  had  never  been  subjected  to  the 
dominion  of  man.     It  was  apparent  that  the  proprietor  of  the 
stock  kept  them  more  for  their  nobleness  of  blood  than  for  any 
purpose  of  service.     Some  few  of  the  older  steeds  showed  the 
care  of  the  groom ;  but  even  these  were  far  from^ being  in  that;, 
sleek  state  of  nurture  which  we  are  apt  to  associate  with  the  idea? 
of  beauty  in  the  horse.     One,  skilled  in  the  points  of  symmetry,-, 
would,  doubtless,  have  found  much  to  challenge  his  admiration, 
in  their  forms ;  but  this  excellence  was,  for  the  most  part,  losfcj 
upon  me.     Still,  however,  unpractised  as  I  was,  there  was,  in  the 
movements  of  these  quadrupeds,  a  charm  that  I  could  not  fail  to  i 
recognize.     No  sooner  were  we  descried  upon  the  field,  than  the' 
different  troops,  in  the  distance,  were   set  in  motion,  as  if  by 
some  signal  to  which  they  were  accustomed ;  and  they  hurried 
tumultuously  to  the  spot  where  we  stood,  exerting  their  utmost 
speed,  and  presenting  a  wonderfully  animated  spectacle.     Th( 


I, 


iiw 


STABLE     WISDOM.  445 

wift  career  of  the  horse,  upon  an  open  plain,  is  always  an  inter- 
sting  sight ;  but  as  we  saw  it  now,  exhibited  in  squadrons,  pur- 
;uing  an  unrestrained  and  irregular  flight,  accompanied  with  wild 
ind  expressive  neighs,  and  enlivened  with  all  the  frolicksome 
mtics  that  belong  to  high-mettled  coursers, — it  was  a  scene  of 
angularly  gay  and  picturesque  beauty.  The  ludicrous  earnest 
iess,  too,  with  which  they  crowded  upon  us  ! — there  was  in  it  the 
latural  grace  of  youth,  united  with  the  muscular  vigor  of  matu- 
•ity.  One  reared  playfully,  as  he  thrust  himself  into  the 
i3ompact  assembly  ;  another  advanced  at  a  long,  swinging  trot, 
striking  the  ground  at  every  step  with  a  robust  and  echoing 
stroke,  and  then,  halted  suddenly,  as  if  transfigured  into  a 
"tatue.  Some  kicked  at  their  comrades,  and  seized  them  with 
their  teeth  in  the  wantonness  of  sport :  others  leaped  in  quick 
bounds,  and  made  short  circuits,  at  high  speed,  around  the  mass, 
with  heads  and  tails  erect,  displaying  the  flexibility  of  their 
bodies  in  caracols  of  curious  nimbleness.  The  younger  colts 
impertinently  claimed  to  be  familiar  with  the  horses  we  rode  ; 
and  were  apt  to  receive,  in  return,  a  severe  blow  for  the  intrusion. 
Altogether,  it  was  a  scene  of  boisterous  horse-play,  well  befitting 
the  arrogant  nature  of  such  a  licentious,  high-blooded,  far-de- 
scended and  riotous  young  nobility. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  this  was  a  sight  of  engrossing  inter- 
est to  Meriwether.  Both  he  and  Carey  had  dismounted,  and 
were  busy  in  their  survey  of  the  group. — all  the  while  descanting 
upon  the  numberless  perfections  of  form  that  occurred  to  their 
view  ;  and  occasionally  interlarding  their  commendations  with 
the  technical  lore  of  genealogy,  which,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
might  as  profitably  have  been  delivered  in  Greek. 

The  occasion  of  this  rapid  concentration  of  our  cavalry  was 
soon  explained.  Meriwether  was  in  the  habit  of  administering 
a  weekly  ration  of  salt  to  these  wandering  hordes  at  this  spot  • 


446  STABLE     WISDOM. 

and  they,  therefore,  were  wont  to  betake  themselves  to  the  ren- 
dezvous, with  all  the  eagerness  we  had  witnessed,  whenever  any 
sign  was  offered  them  that  the  customary  distribution  was  to  be 
made.  Care  was  now  taken  that  they  should  not  be  disappointed 
in  their  reasonable  expectations  ;  and  Carey  was,  accordingly, 
dispatched  to  the  stable  for  the  necessary  supplies.  f" 

Having  gratified  our  curiosity  in  this  region,  we  now  visited* 
the  farm-yard.  Within  this  inclosure,  a  party  of  negroes  werei 
employed  in  treading  out  grain.  About  a  dozen  horses  werei 
kept  at  full  trot  around  a  circle  of  some  ten  or  fifteen  pace8< 
diameter,  which  was  strewed  with  the  wheat  in  sheaf.  Thes^ 
were  managed  by  some  five  or  six  little  blacks,  who  rode  li 
monkey  caricaturists  of  the  games  of  the  circus,  and  who  mi; 
gled  with  the  labors  of  the  place  that  comic  air  of  deviltry  whiob^ 
communicated  to  the  whole  employment  something  of  the  conH 
plexion  of  a  pastime.  Whilst  we  remained  here,  as  spectators  ol 
this  stirring  and  busy  occupation,  a  dialogue  took  place,  which,  aii 
it  made  some  important  veterinary  disclosures,  I  will  record  forf 
the  benefit  of  all  those  who  take  an  interest  in  adding  to  th( 
treasures  of  pharmacy.  .^ 

One  of  the  horses  had  received  an  injury  in  a  fore-leg,  a 
day  or  two  before ;  and  was  now  confined  in  the  stable  undejl 
the  regimen  of  the  overseer.  The  animal  was  brought  out  foil 
inspection,  and  the  bandages,  which  had  been  bound  round  th 
limb,  were  removed  in  our  presence.  To  a  question  as  to  th 
cause  of  this  injury,  Carey  replied — 

"  The  mischeevous  young  devil  wa'nt  content  with  the  pastei 
but  she  must  be  loping  over  the  fence  into  the  cornfield  !  I 
was  a  marcy  she  wa'nt  foundered  outright,  on  the  green  corn 
but  she  sprained  her  pasten-joint,  any  how  ; — which  she  deserve- 
for  being  so  obstropolous." 

A  consultation  was  now  held  upon  the  case,  at  which  diver 


v'-'> 


STABLE     WISDOM.  447 

3f  the  elder  negroes  assisted.  But,  in  general,  every  attempt  by 
my  of  these  to  give  an  opinion  was  frowned  down  by  the  author- 
itative and  self-sufl&cient  Carey,  who  was  somewhat  tyrannical  in 
the  assertion  of  his  prerogative. 

Frank  Meriwether  ventured  to  suggest  that  the  injured  part 
should  be  bathed  frequently  with  ice-water ;  to  which  prescrip- 
tion our  ancient  groom  pointedly  objected, — saying  all  the  cretur 
{vanted,  was  to  have  her  leg  dressed,  every  night  and  morning, 
with  a  wash  that  he  could  make,  of  vinegar  and  dockweed,  and 
half  a  dozen  other  ingredients,  which,  he  affirmed,  would  pro- 
duce a  cure,  "  in  almost  no  time." 

I  A  conspicuous  and,  till  now,  somewhat  restive  member  of  the 
icouncil,  was  a  broad-shouldered,  dwarfish  old  negro,  known  by  the 
iname  of  uncle  Jefi",  who  had  manifested  several  decided  symp- 
Itoms  of  a  design  to  make  a  speech ;  and  now,  in  despite  of 
Carey's  cross  looks,  gave  his  advice  in  the  following  terms — 

"  One  of  the  stonishingst  things  for  a  sprain  that  I  knows  on, 
is  this — "  said  he,  stepping  into  the  ring  and  laying  the  fingers 
of  his  right  hand  upon  the  palm  of  his  left — "  Bless  your  soul, 
jMas  Frank !  I  have  tried  it,  often  and  often,  on  people,  but,  in 
ipertickler,  upon  horses:  oil  of  spike — "  he  continued,  striking 
his  palm,  at  the  enumeration  of  each  ingredient ; — •'  oil  of  spike, 
campfire,  a  little  castile  soap,  and  the  best  of  whiskey,  all  put  into 
a  bottle  and  boiled  half  away — It's  mazing  how  .it  will  cure  a 
!sprain  !  My  old  'oman  was  sick  abed  all  last  winter,  with  a  sprain 
Ion  her  knee ;  and  she  tried  Doctor  Stubbs,  and  the  leech  doctor, 
jand  all  the  tother  larned  folks — but  no  use,  tell  she  tuck  some  my 
lintment!  She  said  herself — if  you  believe  me — thar  was  none 
on  'em  no  touch  to  my  intment.  It's  mazing,  Mas  Frank ! 
Oh,  oh!— " 

j  '•  Sho  !"  ejaculated  Carey,  in  a  short,  surely  growl,  after  hear- 
Ung  this  wise  morsel  of  experience  to  the  end,  and  looking  as  an- 


448 


STABLE     AV  I  S  D  O  M  . 


gry  as  a  vexed  bull-dog ;  "  Sbo  !  Jeif,  you  tell  me  !    Think  I  nev ■. 
er  seed  a  hos  with  a  sprained  foot,  all  the  way  up  to  my  time  ol 
life  ?     Stan  off,  man  !  I  knows  what  I  am  about !" 

Meriwether  turned  to  me,  with  a  look  of  jocular  resignation 
and  said,  laughing — 

'-  You  see  how  it  is  !  This  old  magnifieo  will  allow  no  mar 
to  have  an  opinion  but  himself  Rather  than  disturb  the  peace 
I  must  submit  to  his  authority.  Well,  Jeffry,  my  old  fellow,  at 
we  can't  convince  Mr.  Carey,  I  suppose  we  had  better  not  njak( 
him  angry.  You  know  what  an  obstinate,  cross-grained,  old  bul 
ly,  he  is  ?  I  am  afraid  he  will  take  us  both  in  hand,  if  we  con 
tradict  him  :  so  I'm  for  letting  him  alone." 

"  Consarn  his  picture  !"  said  Jeff,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  ao 
companied  by  a  laugh,  in  which  all  the  other  negroes  joined,  a 
we  broke  up  the  consultation  and  walked  away. 


iVKG 


slo{ 


^i 


I 


CHAPTER  XLVI 


THE     QUA R TEE 


Having  despatched  these  important  matters  at  the  stable,  we 
left  our  horses  in  charge  of  the  servants,  and  walked  towards  the 
cabins,  which  were  not  more  than  a  few  hundred  paces  distant. 
These  hovels,  with  their  appurtenances,  formed  an  exceedingly 
picturesque  landscape.  They  were  scattered,  without  order,  over 
the  slope  of  a  gentle  hill ;  and  many  of  them  were  embowered 

'  'under  old  and  majestic  trees.  The  rudeness  of  their  construc- 
tion rather  enhanced  the  attractiveness  of  the  scene.  Some  few 
were  built  after  the  fashion  of  the  better  sort  of  cottages ;  but  age 
had  stamped  its  heavy  traces  upon  their  exterior :  the  green  moss 
had  gathered  upon  the  roofs,  and  the  course  weatherboarding  had 
broken,  here  and  there,  into  chinks.  But  the  more  lowly  of  these 
structures,  and  the  most  numerous,  were  nothing  more  than  plain 
log-cabins,  compacted  pretty  much  on  the  model  by  which  boys 

-  build  partridge-traps  ;  being  composed  of  the'  trunks  of  trees,  still 

M !  clothed  with  their  bark,  and  knit  together  at  the  corners  with  so 
little  regard  to  neatness  that  the  timbers,  being  of  unequal  lengths, 
jutted  beyond  each  other,  sometimes  to  the  length  of  a  foot. 
Perhaps,  none  of  these  latter  sort  were  more  than  twelve  feet 

?  i  square,  and  not  above  seven  in  height.  A  door  swung  upon  wood- 
'  en  hinges,  and  a  small  window  of  two  narrow  panes  of  glass  were, 


450  THE    QUARTEE, 


i 


allt 


Dtlieir 


in  general,  the  only  openings  in  the  front.  The  intervals  between 
the  logs  were  filled  with  clay ;  and  the  roof,  which  was  construct- J-'? 
edof  smaller  timbers,  laid  lengthwise  along  it  and  projecting  twol^  i^'''' 
or  three  feet  beyond  the  side  or  gable  walls,  heightened,  in  a  very  ^  ^■^ 
marked  degree,  the  rustic  effect.  The  chimneys  communicated 
even  a  droll  expression  to  these  habitations.  They  were,  oddly 
enough,  built  of  billets  of  wood,  having  a  broad  foundation  of 
stone,  and  growing  narrower  as  they  rose,  each  receding  gradually! 
from  the  house  to  which  it  was  attached,  until  it  reached  the 
height  of  the  roof  These  combustible  materials  were  saved  from 
the  access  of  the  fire  by  a  thick  coating  of  mud ;  and  the  whole' 
structure,  from  its  tapering  form,  might  be  said  to  bear  some  re- 
semblance to  the  spout  of  a  tea  kettle ;  indeed,  this  domestic  im-t' 
plement  would  furnish  no  unapt  type  of  the  complete  cabin. 

From  this  description,  which  may  serve  to  illustrate  a  whole' 
species  of  habitations  very  common  in  Yirginia,  it  will  be  seeBi,' 
that  on  the  score  of  accommodation,  the  inmates  of  these  dwel^ 
lings  were  furnished  according  to  a  very  primitive  notion  of  com- 
fort. Still,  however,  there  were  little  garden-patches  attached  t© 
each,  where  cymblings,  cucumbers,  sweet  potatoes,  water-melons 
and  cabbages  flourished  in  unrestrained  luxuriance.  Add  to  this^ijBj;-] 
that  there  were  abundance  of  poultry  domesticated  about  theifcear 
premises,  and  it  may  be  perceived  that,  whatever  might  be  theilbtoi 
inconveniences  of  shelter,  there  was  no  want  of  what,  in  all  coun- 
tries, would  be  considered  a  reasonable  supply  of  luxuries. 

Nothing  more  attracted  my  observation  than  the  swarms  oi 
little  negroes  that  basked  on  the  sunny  sides  of  these  cabins,  and* 
congregated  to  gaze  at  us  as  we  surveyed  their  haunts.  They 
were  nearly  all  in  that  costume  of  the  golden  age  which  I  havo 
heretofore  described ;  and  showed  their  slim  shanks  and  long  ^ikI, 
heels  in  all  varieties  of  their  grotesque  natures.  Their  jiredora 
inant  love  of  sunshine,  and  their  lazy,  listless  posture?,  (vnd  ap 


THE     QUARTER.  451 

>arent  content  to  be  silently  looking  abroad,  might  well  afford  a 
•omparison  to  a  set  of  terrapins  luxuriating  .n  the  genial  warmth 
3f  summer,  on  the  logs  of  a  mill-pond. 

And  there,  too,  were  the  prolific  mothers  of  this  redundant 
brood, — a  number  of  stout  negro-women  who  thronged  the  doors 
if  the  huts,  full  of  idle  curiosity  to  see  us.  And,  when  to  these 
;re  added  a  few  reverend,  wrinkled,  decrepit  old, men,  with  faces 
phortened  as  if  with  drawing-strings,  noses  that  seemed  to  have 
irun  all  to  nostril,  and  with  feet  of  the  configuration  of  a  mattock, 
|my  reader  will  have  a  tolerably  correct  idea  of  this  negro-quarter, 
its  population,  buildings,  external  appearance,  situation  and 
extent. 

Meriwether,  I  have  said  before,  is  a  kind  and  considerate  mas- 
ter. It  is  his  custom  frequently  to  visit  his  slaves,  in  order  to 
inspect  their  condition,  and,  where  it  may  be  necessary,  to  add 
to  their  comforts  or  relieve  their  wants.  His  coming  amongst 
them,  therefore,  is  always  hailed  with  pleasure.  He  has  consti- 
tuted himself  into  a  high  court  of  appeal,  and  makes  it  a  rule  to 
give  all  their  petitions  a  patient  hearing,  and  to  do  justice  in  the 
premises.  This,  he  tells  me,  he  considers  as  indispensably  neces- 
sary ; — he  says,  that  no  overseer  is  entirely  to  be  trusted  :  that 
there  are  few  men  who  have  the  temper  to  administer  wholesome 
laws  to  any  population,  however  small,  without  some  omissions  or 
irregularities  ;  and  that  this  is  more  emphatically  true  of  those 
who  administer  them  entirely  at  their  own  will.  On  the  present 
occasion,  in  almost  every  house  where  Frank  entered,  there  was 
some  boon  to  be  asked ;  and  I  observed,  that  in  every  case,  the 
petitioner  was  either  gratified  or  refused  in  such  a  tone  as  left  no 
occasion  or  disposition  to  murmur.  Most  of  the  women  had 
some  bargains  to  offer,  of  fowls  or  eggs  or  other  commodities  of 
household  use,  and  Meriwether  generally  referred  them  to  his 
wife,  who,  I  found,  relied  almost  entirely  on  this  resource,  for  the 


452  THE    QUARTER. 

supply  of  such  commodities  ;    tlie  negroes  being  regularly  paid 
for  whatever  was  offered  in  this  way. 

One  old  fellow  had  a  special  favour  to  ask, — a  little  money  to 
get  a  new  padding  for  his  saddle,  which,  he  said,  "  galled  his  cre- 
tur's  back."  Frank,  after  a  few  jocular  passages  with  the  veteran, 
gave  him  what  he  desired,  and  sent  him  off  rejoicing, 

"  That,  sir,"  said  Meriwether,  "  is  no  less  a  personage  than 
Jupiter.  He  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  has  his  cabin  here  on  the 
hill.  He  is  now  near  seventy,  and  is  a  kind  of  King  of  the  Quarter. 
He  has  a  horse,  which  he  extorted  from  me  last  Christmas  ;  and 
I  seldom  come  here  without  finding  myself  involved  in  some  new 
demand,  as  a  consequence  of  my  donation.  Now  he  wants  a  pair 
of  spurs  which,  I  suppose,  I  must  give  him.  He  is  a  preposterous 
coxcomb,  and  Ned  has  administered  to  his  vanity  by  a  present  of 
a  chajoeau  de  bras — a  relic  of  my  military  era,  which  he  wears  on 
Sundays  with  a  conceit  that  has  brought  upon  him  as  much  envy 
as  admiration — the  usual  condition  of  greatness." 

The  air  of  contentment  and  good  humor  and  kind  family  at- 
tachment, which  was  apparent  throughout  this  little  community, 
and  the  familiar  relations  existing  between  them  and  the  proprie- 
tor struck  me  very  pleasantly.  I  came  here  a  stranger,  in  great 
degree,  to  the  negro  character,  knowing  but  little  of  the  domestic 
history  of  these  people,  their  duties,  habits  or  temper,  and  some- 
what disposed,  indeed,  from  prepossessions,  to  look  upon  them  as 
severely  dealt  with,  and  expecting  to  have  my  sympathies  excited 
towards  them  as  objects  of  commiseration.  I  have  had,  therefore, 
rather  a  special  interest  in  observing  them.  The  contrast  between 
my  preconceptions  of  their  condition  and  the  reality  which  I  have 
witnessed,  has  brought  me  a  most  agreeable  surprise.  I  will  not 
say  that,  in  a  high  state  of  cultivation  and  of  such  self  dependence 
as  they  might  possibly  attain  in  a  separate  national  existence, 
they  might  not  become  a  more  respectable  people ;  but  I  am  quite 


Ijele 

:  k 
I 


THE     QUA  11 T  E  R  453 

sure  they  never  could  become  a  happier  people  than  I  find  them 
here.  Perhaps  they  are  destined,  ultimately,  to  that  national  ex- 
istence, in  the  clime  from  which  they  derive  their  origin — that 
this  is  a  transition  state  in  which  we  sec  them  in  Virginia.  If  it 
bt3  SG,  no  tribe  of  people  have  ever  passed  from  barbarism  to  civili- 
zation whose  middle  stage  of  progress  has  been  more  secure  from 
harm,  more  genial  to  their  character,  or  better  supplied  with 
mild  and  beneficent  guardianship,  adapted  to  the  actual  state  of 
their  intellectual  feebleness,  than  the  negroes  of  Swallow  Barn. 
And,  from  what  I  can  gather,  it  is  pretty  much  the  same  on  the 
other  estates  in  this  regionj  I  hear  of  an  unpleasant  exception 
to  this  remark  now  and  then ;  but  under  such  conditions  as  war- 
rant the  opinion  that  the  unfavorable  case  is  not  more  common 
than  that  which  may  be  found  in  a  survey  of  any  other  depart- 
ment of  society.  The  oppression  of  apprentices,  of  seamen,  of 
soldiers,  of  subordinates,  indeed,  in  every  relation,  may  furnish 
elements  for  a  bead-roll  of  social  grievances  quite  as  striking,  if 
they  were  diligently  noted  and  brought  to  view. 

What  the  negro  is  finally  capable  of,  in  the  way  of  civilization, 
I  am  not  philosopher  enough  to  determine.  In  the  present  stage 
of  his  existence,  he  presents  himself  to  my  mind  as  essentially 
parasitical  in  his  nature.  I  mean  that  he  is,  in  his  moral  consti- 
tution, a  dependant  upon  the  whit«  race ;  dependant  for  guidance 
and  direction  even  to  the  procurement  of  his  most  indispensable 
necessaries.  Apart  from  this  protection  he  has  the  helplessness 
of  a  child, — without  foresight,  without  faculty  of  contrivance, 
without  thrift  of  any  kind.  We  have  instances,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  this  estate,  of  individuals  of  the  tribe  falling  into  the  most 
deplorable  destitution  from  the  want  of  that  constant  supervision 
which  the  race  seems  to  require.  This  helplessness  may  be  the 
due  and  natural  impression  which  two  centuries  of  servitude  have 
stamped  upon  the  tribe.     But  it  is  not  the  less  a  present  and  in- 


h 


454  THE     QUARTER.  j 

surmountable  impediment  to  that  most  cruel  of  all  projects — the  i 
direct,  broad  emancipation  of  these  people  ; — an  act  of  legislation  ( 
in  comparison  with  which  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes  i 
would  be  entitled  to  be  ranked  among  political  benefactions.  Ta- 
king instruction  from  history,  all  organized  slaycry  is  inevitably 
but  a  temporary  phase  of  human  condition.  Interest,  necessity 
and  instinct,  all  work  to  give  progression  to  the  relations  of  man- 
kind, and  finally  to  elevate  each  tribe  or  race  to  its  maximum  of 
refinement  and  power.  We  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
negro  will  be  an  exception  to  this  law. 

At  present,  I  have  said,  he  is  parasitical.     He  grows  upward, 
only  as  the  vine  to  which  nature  has  supplied  the  sturdy  tree  aB  | . 
a  support.     He  is  extravagantly  imitative.     The  older  negroes  | 
here  have — with  some  spice  of  comic  mixture  in  it — -that  formal,  { 
grave  and  ostentatious  style  of  manners,  which  belonged  to  the  j 
gentlemen  of  former  days;    they  are  profuse  of  bows  and  compli- ! 
ments,  and  very  aristocratic  in  their  way.     The  younger  ones  are    , 
equally  to  be  remarked  for  aping  the  style  of  the  present  time,  j 
and  especially  for  such  tags  of  dandyism  in  dress  as  come  within ' 
their  reach.     Their  fondness  for  music  and  dancing  is  a  predorai- :    , 
nant  passion.     I  never  meet  a  negro  man — unless  he  is  quite  old  j   j- 
— that  he  is  not  whistling  ;  and  the  women  sing  from  morning  till;   '• 
night.     And  as  to  dancing,   the  hardest  day's  wor«i  does  not  re- 
strain their  desire  to  indulge  in  such  pastime.     During  the  har-ili[. 
vest,  when  their  toil  is  pushed  to  its  utmost — the  time  being  one 
of  recognized   privileges — they  dance  almost   the  whole  night. 
They  are  great  sportsmen,  too.     They  angle  and  haul  the  seine, 
and  hunt  and  tend  their  traps,  with  a  zest  that  never  grows  weary. 
Their  gayety  of  heart  is  constitutional  and  perennial,  and  when 
they  are  together  they  arc  as  voluble  and  noisy  as  so  many  black- 
birds.    In  short,  I  think  them  the  most  good-natured,  careless. 
light-hearted,  and  happily-constructed  human  beings  I  have  cvei 


0 


THE    QUARTER.  455 

seen.  iTaving  but  few  and  simple  wants,  they  seem  to  me  to  be 
provided  with  every  comfort  which  falls  within  the  ordinary  com- 
pass of  their  wishes  ;  and,  I  might  say,  that  they  find  even  more 
enjoyment, — as  that  word  may  be  applied  to  express  positive 
pleasures  scattered  through  the  course  of  daily  occupation — than 
[any  other  laboring  people  I  am  acquainted  with. 

I  took  occasion  to  express  these  opinions  to  Meriwether,  and  to 
tell  him  how  much  I  was  struok  by  the  mild  and  kindly  aspect  of 
this  society  at  the  Quarter. 

i  This,  as  I  expected,  brought  him  into  a  discourse. 
'  "The  world,"  said  he.  "has  begun  very  seriously  to  discuss  tho 
evils  of  slavery,  and  the  debate  has  sometimes,  unfortunately,  been 
levelled  to  the  comprehension  of  our  negroes,  and  pains  have  even 
been  taken  that  it  should  reach  them.  I  believe  there  arc  but  few 
men  who  may  not  be  persuaded  that  they  suffer  some  wrong  in 
the  organization  of  society — for  society  has  many  wrongs,  both 
accidental  and  contrived,  in  its  structure.  Extreme  poverty  is, 
perhaps,  always  a  wrong  done  to  the  individual  upon  whom  it  is 
cast.  Society  can  have  no  honest  excuse  for  starving  a  human 
being.  I  dare  say  you  can  follow  out  that  train  of  thought  and 
find  numerous  evils  to  complain  of.  Ingenious  men,  some  of  them 
not  very  honest,  have  found  in  these  topics  themes  for  agitation 
and  popular  appeal  in  all  ages.  How  likely  are  they  to  find,  in 
this  question  of  slavery,  a  theme  for  the  highest  excitement ;  and, 
especially,  how  easy  is  it  to  inflame  the  passions  of  these  untu- 
tored and  unreckoning  people,  our  black  population,  with  this 
subject!  I  For  slavery,  as  an  original  question,  is  wholly  without 
justification  or  defence.  It  is  theoretically  and  morally  wrong — 
and  fanatical  and  one-sided  thinkers  will  call  its  continuance,  even 
for  a  day,  a  wrong,  under  any  modification  of  it.  But.  surely,  if 
these  people  are  consigned  to  our  care  by  the  accident,  or,  what 
is  worse,  the  premeditated  policy  which  has  put  them  upon  our  com- 


456  THE     QUARTER. 


IfeiD' 


per  of 


monwealtbj  the  great  duty  that  is  left  to  us  is,  to  shape  our 
conduct,  in  reference  to  them,  by  a  wise  and  beneficent  consi* 
deration  of  the  case  as  it  exists,  and  to  administer  wholesome 
laws  for  their  government,  making  their  servitude  as  tolerable  to 
them  as  we  can  consistently  with  our  own  safety  and  their  ulti- 
mate good.     We  should  not  be  justified  in  taking  the  hazard  of 
internal  convulsions  to  get  rid  of  them  ;    nor  have  we  a  right,  in 
the  desire  to  free  ourselves,  to  whelm  them  in  greater  evils  than 
their  present  bondage.     A  violent  removal  of  them,  or  a  general  s 
emancipation,  would  assuredly  produce  one  or  the  other  of  these 
calamities.  1  Has  any  sensible  man,  who  takes  a  different  view  of 
this  subject,  ever  reflected  upon  the  consequences  of  committing 
two  or  three  millions  of  persons,  born  and  bred  in  a  state  so  com- 
pletely dependent  as  that  of  slavery — so  unfurnished,  so  unintel-l 
lectual,  so  utterly  helpless,  I  may  say — to  all  the  responsibilities, 
cares  and  labors  of  a  state  of  freedom  ?      Must  he  not  acknow- 
ledge, that  the  utmost  we  could  give  them  would  be  but  a  nominal 
freedom,  in  doing  which  we  should  be  guilty  of  a  cruel  desertion 
of  our  trust — inevitably  leading  them  to  progressive  debasement, 
penury,  oppression,  and  finally  to  extermination?  I  would  not  argu6 
with  that  man  whose  bigotry  to  a  sentiment  was  so  blind  and  so  fa* 
tal  as  to  insist  on  this  expedient.  When  the  time  comes,  as  I  appre-:M^jji 
hend  it  will  come, — and  all  the  sooner,  if  it  be  not  delayed  by  Mjjfj^ 
these  efforts  to  arouse  something  like  a  vindictive  feeling  between |l|j|jj| 
the  disputants  on  both  sides — in  which  the  roots  of  slavery  will 
begin  to  lose  their  hold  in  our  soil ;  and  when  we  ohall  have  thai 
means  for  providing  these  people  a  proper  asylum,  I  shall  be  glad 
to  see  the  State  devote  her  thoughts  to  that  enterprise,  and,  if 
am  alive,  will  cheerfully  and  gratefully  assist  in  it.     In  the  me 
time,  we  owe  it  to  justice  and  humanity  to  treat  these  people  with 
the  most  considerate  kindness.     As  to  what  are  ordinarily  i 
gined  to  be  the  evils  or  sufferings  of  their  condition,  I  do  not  be* 


,cr 


Itl 


{  THE     QUARTER.  457 

llieve  in  them.     The  evil  is  generally  felt  on  the  side  of  the  master. 
Less  work  is  exacted  of  them  than  voluntary  laborers  choose  to 
iperform  :  they  have  as  many  privileges  as  are  compatible  with  the 
'nature  of  their  occupations :    they  are  subsisted,  in  general,  as 
comfortably — nay,  in  their  estimation  of  comforts,  more  comforta- 
jbly,  than  the  rural  population  of  other  countries.     And  as  to  the 
severities  that  are  alleged  to  be  practised  upon  them,  there  is 
much  more  malice  or  invention  than  truth  in  the  accusation.    The 
slaveholders  in  this  region  are,  in  the  main,  men  of  kind  and  hu- 
mane tempers — as  pliant  to  the  touch  of  compassion,  and  as  sen- 
sible of  its  duties,  as  the  best  men  in  any  community,  and  as  little 
disposed  to  inflict  injury  upon  their  dependents.     Indeed,  the 
owner  of  slaves  is  less  apt  to  be  harsh  in  his  requisitions  of  labor 
jthan  those  who  toil  much  themselves.     I  suspect  it  is  invariably 
Icharacteristic  of  those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  severely  tasking 
themselves,  that  they  are  inclined  to  regulate  their  demands  upon 
'-*  others  by  their  own  standard.     Our  slaves  are  punished  for  mis- 
^  [demeanors,  pretty  much  as  disorderly  persons  are  punished  in  all 
■'.'  societies  ;   and  I  am  quite  of  opinion  that  our  statistics  of  crime 
:'    and  punishment  will  compare  favorably  with  those  of  any  other 
-  Ipopulation.     But  the  punishment,  on  our  side,  is  remarked  as  the 
[personal  act  of  the  master ;  whilst,  elsewhere,  it  goes  free  of  ill- 
Inatured  comment,  because  it  is  set  down  to  the  course  of  justice. 
iWe,  therefore,  suffer  a  reproach  which  other  polities  escape,  and  the 
'  Iconclusion  is  made  an  item  of  complaint  against  slavery. 

"  It  has  not  escaped  the  attention  of  our  legislation  to  provide 

|against  the  ill-treatment  of  our  negro  population.       I  heartily 

concur  in  all  effective  laws  to  punish  cruelty  in  masters.     Pub- 

•   lie  opinion  on  that  subject,  however,  is  even   stronger  than  law, 

"'  and  no  man  can  hold  up  his  head  in   this  community  who  is 

'^  jchargeable  with  mal-treatment  of  his  slaves. 

"  One  thing  I   desire  you  specially  to  note :    the  question 

20 


458  THE     QUAPcTER. 

of  emancipation  is    exclusively   our  own,  and  every  intermed' 
dling  with  it  from  abroad  will  but  mar  its  chance  of  success 
We  cannot  but  regard  such  interference  as  an  unwarrantable  anc  j 
mischievous   design  to  do  us  injury,  and,  therefore,  we  reseiil( 
it — sometimes,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  even  to  the  point  of  involving 
the  innocent  negro  in  the  rigor  which  it  provokes.     We  thii 
and,  indeed,  we  know,  that  we  alone  are  able  to  deal  properly  wit 
the  subject ;  all  others  are  misled  by  the  feeling  which  the  nati 
ral  sentiment  against  slavery,  in  the  abstract,  excites.     They 
under  imperfect  knowledge  and  impulsive  prejudices  which 
totally  incompatible  with  wise  action  on  any  subject.     We,  on  tl 
contrary,  have  every  motive  to  calm  and  prudent  counsel.     Oi 
lives,  fortunes,  families — our  commonwealth  itself,  are  put  at  tl 
hazard  of  this  resolve.     You  gentlemen  of  the  North  greatly 
apprehend  us,  if  you  suppose  that  we  are  in  love  with  this  sla^^ 
institution — or  that,  for  the  most  part,  we  even  deem  it  profitablj 
to  us.     There  are  amongst  us,  it  is  true,  some  persons  who  ai 
inclined  to  be  fanatical  on  this  side  of  the  question,  and  who  bricJ 
themselves  to  adopt  some  bold  dogmas  tending  to  these  extreni 
views — and  it  is  not  out  of  the  course  of  events  that  the  violence 
the  agitations  against  us  may  lead  ultimately  to  a  wide  adopticij 
of  these  dogmas  amongst  the  slaveholding  States.     It  is  in  tl] 
nature  of   men   to   recalcitrate  against   continual   assault,  ani 
through  the  zeal  of  such  opposition,  to  run  into  ultraisms  whit] 
cannot  be  defended.     But  at  present,  I  am  sure  the  Southeij 
sentiment  on  this  question  is  temperate  and  wise,  and  that  i 
neither  regard  slavery  as  a  good,  nor  account  it,  except  in  some  i 
vorable  conditions,  as  profitable.    The  most  we  can  say  of  it  is  thrj 
as  matters  stand,  it  is  the  best  auxiliary  within  our  reach. 

"  Without  troubling  you  with  further  reflections  upon  a  di 
subject,  my   conclusion   is  that  the  real   friends  of  humani,i^' 
should  conspire  to  allay  the  ferments  on  this  question,  and,  cv' 


THE     QUAIITER.  450 

at  some  cost,  to  endeavor  to  encourage  the  natural  contentment 
of  the  slave  himself,  by  arguments  to  reconcile  him  to  a  present 
destiny,  which  is,  in  fact,  more  free  from  sorrow  and  want  tlian 
that  of  almost  any  other  class  of  men  occupying  the  same  field  of 
labor." 

Meriwether  was  about  to  finish  his  discourse  at  this  point, 
when  a  new  vein  of  thought  struck  him : 

'•  It  has  sometimes  occurred  to  me,"  he  continued,  '•  that  we 
might  elevate  our  slave  population,  very  advantageously  to  them 
and  to  us,  by  some  reforms  in  our  code.  I  think  we  are  justly 
liable  to  reproach,  for  the  neglect  or  omission  of  our  laws  to  re- 
cognize and  regulate  marriages,  and  the  relation  of  family  amongst 
the  negroes.  "VYe  owe  it  to  humanity  and  to  the  sacred  obliga- 
tion of  Christian  ordinances,  to  respect  and  secure  the  bonds  of 
husband  and  wife,  and  parent  and  child.  I  am  ashamed  to  ac- 
knowledge that  I  have  no  answer  to  make,  in  the  way  of  justifica- 
tion of  this  neglect.  "We  have  no  right  to  put  man  and  wife 
asunder.  The  law  should  declare  this,  and  forbid  the  separation 
under  any  contingency,  except  of  crime.  It  should  be  equally 
peremptory  in  forbidding  the  coercive  separation  of  children  from 
the  mother — at  least  during  that  period  when  the  one  requires 
the  care  of  the  other.  A  disregard  of  these  attachments  has  brought 
more  odium  upon  the  conditions  of  servitude  than  all  the  rest  of 
its  imputed  hardships ;  and  a  suitable  provision  for  them  would 
,  tend  greatly  to  gratify  the  feelings  of  benevolent  and  conscien- 
,  tious  slaveholders,  whilst  it  would  disarm  all  considerate  and  fair- 
minded  men,  of  what  they  deem  the  strongest  objection  to  the 
existing  relations  of  master  and  slave. 

"  I  have  also  another  reform  to  propose,"   said   Meriwether, 

smiling.     ••  It  is,  to  establish  by  law,  an  upper  or  privileged  class 

,  of  slaves — selecting  them  from  the  most  deserving,  above  the  age 

of  forty-five  years.     These  I  would  endue  with   something  of  a 


460  THE     QUARTER. 

feudal  character.     They  should  be  entitled  to  hold  small  tracts 
of  land  under  their  masters,  rendering  for  it  a  certain  rent,  paya-  j 
ble  either  in  personal  service  or  money.     They  should  be  elevated  , 
into  this  class  through  some  order  of  court,  founded  on  certificates  j 
of  good  conduct,  and  showing  the  assent  of  the  master.     And  1 1 
think  I  would  create  legal  jurisdictions,  giving  the  masters  or 
stewards  civil  and  criminal  judicial  authority.     I  have  some  dream , 
of  a  project  of  this  kind  in  my  head,"  he  continued,  "  which  I  havei 
not  fully  matured  as  yet.    You  will  think,  Mr.  Littleton,  that  1 
am  a  man  of  schemes,  if  I  go  on  much  longer — but  there  is  some 
thing  in  this  notion  which  may  be  improved  to  advantage,  and  III 
should  like,  myself,  to  begin  the  experiment.     Jupiter,  here,  shalj 
be  my  first  feudatory — my  tenant  in  socage — my  old  villain !" 

"I  suspect,"  said  I.  "Jupiter  considers  that  his  dignity  is  noj 
to  be  enhanced  by  any  enlargement  of  privilege,  as  long  as  he  i 
allowed  to  walk  about  in  his  military  hat  as  King  of  the  Quarter. ' 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  Meriwether,  laughing :    "  then  I  sha ; 
be  forced  to  make  my  commencement  upon  Carey."  ' 

"  Carey,"  interrupted  Hazard,  "  would  think  it  small  prom  ■ 
tion  to  be  allowed  to  hold  Irnd  under  you!" 

"Faith !    I  shall  be  without  a  feudatorv  to  begin  with"  sa' 
Meriwether.    "  But  come  with  me  ;  I  have  a  visit  to  make  to  tl 
cabin  of  old  Lucy." 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

A     NEGRO     MOTHER. 

Lucy's  cottage  was  removed  from  the  rest  of  the  cabins,  aud 
seemed  to  sleep  in  the  shade  of  a  wood  ui3on  the  skirts  of  which 
it  was  situated.  In  full  view  from  it  was  a  narrow  creek,  or 
navigable  inlet  from  the  river,  which  was  seen  glittering  in  the 
sunshine  through  the  screen  of  cedars  and  shrubbery  that  grew 
upon  its  banks.  A  garden  occupied  the  little  space  in  front  of 
the  habitation  ;  and  here,  with  some  evidence  of  a  taste  for  embel- 
lishment which  I  had  not  seen  elsewhere  in  this  negro  hamlet,  flow- 
ers were  planted  in  order  along  the  line  of  the  inclosure,  and  shot 
up  with  a  gay  luxuriance.  A  draw-well  was  placed  in  the  middle 
of  this  garden,  and  some  few  fruit-trees  were  clustered  about  it 
These  improvements  had  their  origin  in  past  .years,  and  owed 
their  present  preservation  to  the  thrifty  care  of  the  daughter  of 
the  aged  inhabitant,  a  spruce,  decent  and  orderly  woman,  who  had 
been  nurtured  among  the  family  servants  at  Swallow  Barn,  and 
now  resided  in  the  cabin,  the  sole  attendant  upon  her  mother. 

When  we  arrived  at  this  little  dwelling,  Lucy  was  alone,  her 
daughter  having,  a  little  while  before,  left  her  to  make  a  visit  to 
the  family  mansion.  The  old  woman's  form  showed  the  double 
havoc  of  age  and  disease.  She  was  bent  forward,  and  sat  near 
her  hearth,  with  her  elbows  restinc;;  on  her  knees :  and  her  hands 


462  A     NEGRO     MOTHER. 

(in  which  she  grasped  a  faded  and  tattered  handkerchief)  sup- 
ported her  chin.  She  was  smoking  a  short  and  dingy  pipe  :  and, 
in  the  weak  and  childish  musing  of  age,  was  heating  one  foot 
upon  the  floor  with  a  regular  and  rapid  stroke,  such  as  is  common 
to  nurses  when  lulling  a  child  to  sleep.  Her  gray  hairs  were 
covered  with  a  cap  ;  and  her  attire  generally  exhibited  an  atten- 
tion to  cleanliness,  which  showed  the  concern  of  her  daughter  for 
her  personal  comfort. 

The  lowly  furniture  of  the  room  corresponded  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  its  inmate.     It  was  tidy  and  convenient,  and  there 
were  even  some  manifestations  of  the  ambitious  vanity  of  a  female 
in  the  fragments  of  looking-glass,  and  the  small  framed  prints 
that  hung  against  the  walls,     A  pensive  partner  in  the  quiet 
comfort  of  this  little  apartment,  was  a  large  cat,  that  sat  perched  ; 
upon  the  sill  of  the  open  window,  and  looked  demurely  out  upon  . 
the  garden, — as  if  soberly  rebuking  the  tawdry  and  gairish  bevy  - 
of  sunflowers  that  erected  their  tall,  spinster-like  figures  so  near  i 
that  they  almost  thrust  their  heads  into  the  room.  ; 

For  the  first  few  moments  after  our  arrival,  the  old  woman 
seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  our  presence.     Meriwether  spoke  to 
her  without  receiving  an  answer ;  and,  at  last,  after  repeating  his 
salutation  two  or  three  times,  she  raised  her  feeble  eyes  towards  _ 
him,  and  made  only  a  slight  recognition  by  a  bow.     Whether  it , 
was  that  his  voice  became  more  familiar  to  her  ear,  or  that  her  !■ 
memory  was    suddenly  resuscitated,  after  her  master   had    ad-' 
dressed  some  questions  to  her,  she  all  at  once  brightened  up  into  j 
a  lively  conviction  of  the  person  of  her  visitor  ;  and,  as  a  smilelj 
played  across  her  features,  she  exclaimed, — 

"  God  bless  the  young  master  !  I  didn't  know  him.     He  has 
come  to  see  poor  old  mammy  Lucy  !" 

"  And  how  is  the  old  woman  ?"  asked  Meriwether,  stooping  to 
8peak,  almost  in  her  ear. 


fill 


l>i 


A     NEGRO     MOTHER.  463 

'•  She  hasu't  got  far  to  go,"  replied  Lucy.  '•  They  are  a-com- 
]g  for  her : — they  tell  me  every  night  that  they  arc  a-coming  to 
ikc  her  away." 

••  Who  are  coming  ?'"'  inquired  Frank. 

"  They  that  told  the  old  woman/'  she  returned,  looking  up 
'  ildly  and  speaking  in  a  louder  voice,  "  that  they  buried  his 
ody  in  the  sands  of  the  sea. — " 

I     Saying  these  words,  she  began  to  open  out  the  ragged  hand- 
icrchief  which,  until  now,  she  had  held  in  her  clenched  hand. — 
They  brought  me  this  in  the  night,"  she  continued, — -and  then, 
knew  it  was  true." 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  the  old  negro  remained  in  pro- 
)und  silence,  during  which  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 
Lfter  some  minutes  she  seemed  suddenly  to  check  her  feelings 
nd  said,  with  energy, — 

"  I  told  them  it  was  a  lie  :  and  so  it  was  ! — The  old  woman 
new  better  than  them  all.  Master  Frank  didn't  know  it,  and 
liss  Lucretia  didn't  know  it,  but  mammy  Lucy,  if  she  is  old, 
new  it  well ! — Five  years  last  February ! — How  many  years, 
oney,  do  you  think  a  ship  may  keep  going  steady  on  without 
topping? — It  is  a  right  long  time, — isn't  it,  honey?" 

This  exhibition  of  drivelling  dotage  was  attended  with  many 
ther  incoherent  expressions  that  I  have  not  thought  it  worth 
^hile  to  notice ;  and  I  would  not  have  troubled  my  reader  with 
hese  seemingly  unmeaning  effusions  of  a  mind  in  the  last  stages 
f  senility,  if  they  had  not  some  reference  to  the  circumstances  I 
m  about  to  relate.  The  scene  grew  painful  to  us  as  we  pro- 
Dnged  our  visit ;  and  therefore,  after  some  kind  words  to  the  old 
roman,  we  took  our  departure.  As  we  returned  to  Swallow 
5arn,  Frank  Meriwether  gave  me  the  particulars  of  old  Lucy's 
•athetic  history,  which  I  have  woven,  with  as  much  fidelity  as 
ay  memory  allows,  into  the  following  simple  and  somewhat  mel- 
*^'^holy  narrative. 


464  ABE 

........ tl 

During  the  latter  years  of  the  war  of  the  revolution  my  uncle 
Walter  Hazard,  as  I  have  before  informed  my  reader,  commanded 
a  troop  of  volunteer  cavalry,  consisting  principally  of  the  yeo- 
manry in  the  neighborhood  of  Swallow  Barn  ;  and,  at  the  time  of 
the  southern  invasion  by  Lord  Cornwallis,  this  little  band  was 
brought  into  active  service,  and  shared,  as  freely  as  any  other 
corps  'of  the  army,  the  perils  of  that  desultory  warfare  which  was 
waged  upon  the  borders  of  North  Carolina  and  Virginia.  The 
gentlemen  of  the  country,  at  that  time,  marshalled  their  neigh- 
bors into  companies  ;  and,  seldom  acting  in  line,  were  encouraged 
to  harass  the  eiiemy  wherever  opportunity  offered.  The  credit 
as  well  as  the  responsibility  of  these  partisan  operations  fell  to 
the  individual  leaders  who  had  respectively  signalized  themselves 
by  their  zeal  in  the  cause. 

This  kind  of  irregular  army  gave  great  occasion  for  the  dis- 
play of  personal  prowess  ;  and  there  were  many  gentlemen  whose 
bold  adventures,  during  the  period  alluded  to,  furnished  the  sub- 
ject of  popular  anecdotes  of  highly  attractive  interest.  Such  ex- 
ploits, of  course,  were  attended  with  their  usual  marvels ;  and 
there  was  scarcely  any  leader  of  note  who  could  not  recount  some  : 
passages  in  his  adventures,  where  he  was  indebted  for  his  safety  ^ 
to  the  attachment  and  bravery  of  his  followers, — often  to  that  of 
his  personal  servants. 

Captain  Hazard  was  a  good  deal  distinguished  in  this  war, 
and  took  great  pleasure  in  acknowledging  his  indebtedness,  on 
one  occasion,  for  his  escape  from  imminent  peril,  to  the  addrt  "^ 

and  gallantry  of  an  humble  retainer, — a  faithful  negro,  by  the 
name  of  Luke, — whom  he  had  selected  from  the  number  of  his 
slaves  to  attend  him  as  a  body-servant  through  the  adventures  of 
the  war. 

It  furnishes  the  best  answer  that  can  be  made  to  all  the  ex- 
aggerated opinions  of  the  misery  of  the  domestic  slavery  of  tiiis 


i,ai 
eDgrossec 
iwer 
ptilosopli 
iflrartlie 
iiitlierai 
most  fori 
koicgJ 
After 
kislr 
:tfiili 
topersoi 
ever  ro(i( 
iiim  upoi 
serionsoe; 
Ee  offen 
greater  11 
ieaofai 
of 
M  U 
jiiart. 
lad  term 
eared  ii 
to 


'fldfroii 
's  iofirn 


ABE.  405 

eglon,  that,  in  the  stormiest  period  of  the  history  of  the  United 
states,  and  when  the  whole  disposable  force  of  the  country  was 
mgrossed  in  the  conduct  of  a  fearful  conflict,  the  slaves  of  Vir- 
dnia  were  not  only  passive  to  the  pressure  of  a  yoke  which  the 
ihilosophy  of  this  age  aftects  to  consider  as  the  most  intolerable 
'if  burthens,  but  they  also,  in  a  multitude  of  instances,  were  found 
a  the  ranks,  by  the  side  of  their  masters,  sharing  with  them  the 
iiost  formidable  dangers,  and  manifesting  their  attachment  by 
jieroic  gallantry. 

After  the  close  of  the  war  Captain  Hazard  was  not  unmindful 
f  his  trusty  servant.  Luke  had  grown  into  a  familiar  but  re- 
ipectful  intimacy  with  his  master,  and  occupied  a  station  about 
is  person  of  the  most  confidential  nature.  My  uncle  scarcely 
ver  rode  out  without  him,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  consulting 
im  upon  many  lesser  matters  relating  to  the  estate,  with  a 
isriousness  that  showed  the  value  he  set  upon  Luke's  judgment. 
le  offered  Luke  his  freedom ;  but  the  domestic  desired  no 
reater  liberty  than  he  then  enjoyed,  and  would  not  entertain  the 
lea  of  any  possible  separation  from  the  family.  Instead,  there- 
)re,  of  an  unavailing,  formal  grant  of  manumission,  my  uncle 
ive  Luke  a  few  acres  of  ground,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
luarter,  and  provided  him  a  comfortable  cabin.  Before  the  war 
id  terminated,  Luke  had  married  Lucy,  a  slave  who  had  been 
;ared  in  the  family,  as  a  lady's  maid,  and,  occasionally,  as  a 
Lu-se  to  the  children  at  Swallow  Barn.  Things  went  on  very 
noothly  with  them,  for  many  years.  But,  at  length,  Luke 
axed  old,  and  began  to  grow  rheumatic ;  and,  by  degrees,  re- 
red  from  his  customary  duties,  which  were  rendered  lighter  as 
s  infirmities  increased.  Lucy,  from  the  spry  and  saucy-eyed 
aiting-woman,  was  fast  changing  into  a  short,  fat  and  plethoric 
d  dame.  Her  locks  accumulated  the  frost  of  each  successive 
inter  ;  and  she,  too,  fell  back  upon  the  reserve  of  comfort  laid 


466  A  B  E  - 

up  for  their  old  age  by  their  master, — who  timself.  by  a  like  pro-    , 
cess,  had  faded  away,  from  the  buxom,  swashing  madcap  of  the    , 
revolutionary  day,  into  a  thin,  leather-cheeked  old  campaigner, 
who  sometimes  told  hugely  long  stories,  and  sent  for  Luke  to 
put  his  name  on  the  back  of  them.     In  short,  five  and  thirty   j 
years,  had  wrought  their  ordinary  miracles  ;  and  first,  the  vete- 
ran Luke  disappeared  from  this  mortal  stage ;  and  then  his  mas-  ; 
ter  :  and  old  Lucy  was  left  a  hale  and  querulous  widow,  with  I 
eight  or  nine  children,  and  her  full  dower  interest  in  the  cabin 
and  its  curtilage. 

The  youngest,  but  one,  of  her  children  was  named  Abraham 
— universally  called  Abe.     All  before  Abe  had  arrived  at  man- 
hood, and  had  been  successively  dismissed  from  Lucy  s  cabin,  as 
they  reached  the  age  fit  to  render  them  serviceable,  with  that  « 
satisfied  unconcern  that  belongs  to  a  negro  mother  who  trusts  to 
the  kindness  of  her  master.     This  family  was  remarkable  for  its 
intelligence ;  and  those  who  had  already  left  the  maternal  nest  | 
had,  with  perhaps  one  or  two  exceptions,  been  selected  for  the  * 
mechanical   employments    upon   the   estate : — they   were    shoe- 
makers, weavers,  or  carpenters ;    and  were   held  in  esteem  for 
their  industry  and  good  character.     Abe,  however,  was  an  ex-  c 
ception  to  the  general  respectability  of  Luke's  descendants.     He 
was,  at  the  period  to  which  my  story  refers,  an  athletic  and  sin- 
gularly active  lad,  rapidly  approaching  to  manhood ;  with  a  frame 
not  remarkable  for  size,  but  well  knit,  and  of  uncommonly  sym- 
metrical proportions  for  the  race  to  which  he  belonged.     He  had 
nothing  of  the  flat  nose  and  broad  lip  of  his  tribe, — but  his  face 
was  rather  moulded  with  the  prevailing  characteristics  of  the  ne- 
groes of  the  West  Indies.     There  was  an  expression  of  courage 
in  his  eye  that  answered  to  the  complexion  of  his  mind  :  he  was 
noted  for  his  spirit,  and  his  occasional  bursts  of  passion,  which, 
even  in  his  boyhood,  rendered  him  an  object  of  fear  to  liis  older 


..'f'ilit'' 


i''i'  '•» 


i     il', 


I 


jess 


*#/f  ••:■•  ; 


ABE.  467 

^ociates.  This  disposition  was  coupled  with  singular  shrewd- 
ness of  intellect,  and  an  aptitude  for  almost  cver}^  species  of 
handicraft.  He  had  been  trained  to  the  work  of  a  blacksmith, 
and  was,  when  he  chose  to  be  so,  a  useful  auxiliary  at  the  anvil. 
]jut  a  habit  of  associating  with  the  most  profligate  menials  be- 
longing to  the  extensive  community  of  Swallow  Barn,  and  the 
neighborihg  estates,  had  corrupted  his  character,  and,  at  the  time 
of  life  which  he  had  now  reached,  had  rendered  him  offensive  to 
the  whole  plantation. 

Walter  Hazard  could  never  bear  the  idea  of  disposing  of  any 
of  his  negroes  ;  and  when  Meriwether  came  to  the  estate,  he  was 
even  more  strongly  imbued  with  the  same  repugnance.  Abe 
was,  therefore,  for  a  long  time,  permitted  to  take  his  own  way,—'' 
the  attachment  of  the  family  for  his  mother  procuring  for  him 
an  amnesty  for  many  transgressions.  Lucy,  as  is  usual  in  almost 
all  such  cases,  entertained  an  affection  for  this  outcast,  surpassing 
that  which  she  felt  for  all  the  rest  of  her  offspring.  There  was 
[never  a  more  exemplary  domestic  than  the  mother  :  nor  was  she 
(Without  a  painful  sense  of  the  failings  of  her  son  ;  but  this  only 
Imortified  her  pride  without  abating  her  fondness — a  common 
leffect  of  strong  animal  impulses,  not  merely  in  ignorant  minds. 
[Abe  had  always  lived  in  her  cabin,  and  the  instinct  of  long  asso- 
jCiation  predominated  over  her  weak  reason  ;  so  that  although  she 
Iwas  continually  tormented  with  his  misdeeds,  and  did  not  fail  to 
reprove  him  even  with  habitual  harshness,  still  her  heart  yearned 
secretly  towards  him.  Time  fled  by,  confirming  this  motherly 
lattachment,  and,  in  the  same  degree,  hardening  Abe  into  the  most 
jirreclaimable  of  culprits.  He  molested  the  peace  of  the  neigh- 
jborhood  by  continual  broils ;  was  frequently  detected  in  acts  of 
depredation  upon  the  adjoining  farms  ;  and  had  once  brought 
jhimself  into  extreme  jeopardy  by  joining  a  band  of  out-lying  ne- 
groes, who  had  secured  themselves,  for  some  weeks,  in  the  fast- 


468  ABE. 

nesses  of  the  low-country  swamps,  from  whence  they  annoyed  the 
vicinity  by  nocturnal  incursions  of  the  m')st  lawless  character. 
Nothing  but  the  interference  of  Meriwether,  at  the  earnest  im- 
plorings  of  Lucy,  saved  Abe,  on  this  occasion,  from  public  justice. 
Abe  was  obliged  in  consequence  to  be  removed  altogether  from 
the  estate,  and  consigned  to  another  sphere  of  action. 

Meriwether  revolved  this  matter  with  great  deliberation  ;  and, 
at  length,  determined  to  put  his  refractory  bondsman  in  the 
charge  of  one  of  the  pilots  of  the  Chesapeake,  to  whom,  it  was 
supposed,  he  might  become  a  valuable  acquisition ; — his  active, 
intelligent  and  intrepid  character  being  well  suited  to  the  peril- 
ous nature  of  that  service.  The  arrangements  for  this  purpose 
were  speedily  made,  and  the  day  of  his  removal  drew  nigh. 

It  was  a  curious  speculation,  on  the  part  of  the  family,  and 
an  unpleasant  one,  to  see  how  Lucy  would  bear  this  separation. 
The  negroes,  like  all  other  dependants,  are  marked  by  an  abun- 
dant spirit  of  assentation.  They  generally  agree  to  whatever  is 
proposed  to  their  minds,  by  their  superiors,  with  an  acquiescence 
that  has  the  show  of  conviction.  But,  it  is  very  hard  to  convince 
the  mind  of  a  mother,  of  the  justice  of  the  sentence  that  deprives  ' 
her  of  her  child, — especially  a  poor,  unlearned,  negro  mother.  . 
Lucy  heard  all  the  arguments  to  justify  the  necessity  of  sending  * 
Abe  abroad ;  assented  to  all ;  bowed  her  head,  as  if  entirely  con- 
vinced ; — and  thought  it — very  hard.  She  was  told  that  it  was 
the  only  expedient  to  save  him  from  prison ;  she  admitted  it ; 
but  still  said — that  it  was  a  very  cruel  thing  to  sever  mother  and 
son.  It  was  a  source  of  unutterable  anguish  to  her,  which  no 
kindness  on  the  part  of  the  family  could  mitigate.  Forgetting 
Abe's  growth  to  manhood,  his  delinquencies,  the  torments  he  had 
incessantly  inflicted  upon  her  peace,  and  unmindful  of  the  numer- 
ous children  that,  with  their  descendants,  v/ere  still  around  her, 
she  seemed  to  be  engrossed  by  her  afi"ectian  for  this  worthless 


I 


> 


I 


ABE.  4G0 

scion  of  her  stock  ; — showing  how  entirely  the  unreasoning  in- 
stincts of  the  animal  sway  the  human  mind,  in  its  uneducated 
condition.  All  the  considerations  that  proved  Abe's  banishment 
a  necessary,  and,  even  for  himself,  a  judicious  measure,  seemed 
only  to  afford  additional  reinforcements  to  the  unquenchable 
dotings  of  the  mother. 

From  the  time  of  the  discovery  of  the  transgression  which 
brought  down  upon  Abe  the  sentence  that  was  to  remove  him 
from  Swallow  Barn,  until  the  completion  of  the  preliminary 
arrangements  for  his  departure,  he  was  left  in  a  state  of  anxious 
uncertainty  as  to  his  fate.  He  was  afraid  to  be  seen  at  large,  as 
some  risk  was  hinted  to  him  of  seisure  by  the  public  authorities  ; 
and  he.  therefore,  confined  himself,  with  a  sullen  and  dejected 
silence,  in  Lucy's  cabin, — seldom  venturing  beyond  the  threshold ; 
and,  when  he  did  so,  it  was  with  the  stealthy  and  suspicious  mo- 
tion which  is  observable  in  that  class  of  animals  that  pursue  their 
prey  by  night,  when  induced  to  stir  abroad  in  daytime. 

It  is  a  trait  in  the  dispositions  of  the  negroes  on  the  old 
plantations,  to  cling  with  more  than  a  freeman's  interest  to  the 
spot  of  their  nativity.  They  have  a  strong  attachment  to  the 
places  connected  with  their  earlier  associations, — what  in  phreno- 
logy is  called  inhabitiveness  ; — and  the  pride  of  remaining  in  one 
family  of  masters,  and  of  being  transmitted  to  its  posterity  with 
all  their  own  generations,  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  features 
in  these  negro  clans.  Being  a  people  of  simple  combinations  and 
limited  faculty  for  speculative  pleasures,  they  are  a  contented 
race, — not  much  disturbed  by  the  desire  of  novelty.  Abe  was  not 
yet  informed  whether  he  was  to  be  sold"  to  a  distant  owner,  given 
over  to  public  punishment,  or  condemned  to  some  domestic  dis- 
grace. Apparently,  he  did  not  much  care  which  : — his  natui-al 
resoluteness  had  made  him  dogged. 

It  was  painful,  during  this  period,  to  see  his  mother.     In  all 


t 


470  ABE. 

respects  unlike  Hraself,  slie  suffered  intensely;  and,  tliougli Iioary 
with  sixty  winters,  hovered  about  him,  with  that  busy  assiduity 
which  is  one  of  the  simplest  forms  in  which  anxiety  and  grief  are 
apt  to  show  themselves.  She  abandoned  her  usual  employments^ 
and  passed  almost  all  her  time  within  her  cabin,  in  a  fretful  sub- 
serviency to  his  wants  ;  and,  what  might  seem  to  be  incompatible 
with  this  strong  emotion  of  attachment, — though,  in  fact,  it  was 
one  of  the  evidences  of  its  existence, — her  tone  of  addressing  him 
was  that  of  reprimand,  seldom  substituted  by  the  language  of  pity 
or  tenderness.  I  mention  this,  because  it  illustrates  one  point  of 
the  negro  character.  She  provided  for  him,  as  for  a  sickly  child, 
what  little  delicacies  her  affluence  afforded  :  and,  with  a  furtive 
industry,  plied  her  needle  through  the  livelong  night,  in  making 
up,  from  the  scanty  materials  at  her  command,  such  articles  of 
dress  as  might  be  found  or  fancied  to  be  useful  to  him,  in  the 
uncertain  changes  that  awaited  him.  In  these  preparations  there 
was  even  seen  a  curious  attention  to  matters  that  might  serve 
only  to  gratify  his  vanity  ;  some  fantastical  and  tawdry  personal 
ornaments  were  to  be  found  amongst  the  stock  of  necessaries 
which  her  foresight  was  thus  providing. 

I  hope  I  shall  not  be  thought  tedious  in  thus  minutely  remark- 
ing the  trifles  that  were  observable  in  the  conduct  of  the  old 
domestic  on  this  occasion.  My  purpose  is  to  bring  to  the  view  of 
my  reader  an  exhibition  of  the  natural  forms  in  which  the  passions 
are  displayed  in  those  lowest  and  humblest  of  the  departments  of 
human  society,  and  to  represent  truly  a  class  of  people  to  whom 
justice  has  seldom  been  done,  and  who  possess  many  points  of 
character  well  calculated  to  win  them  a  kind  and  amiable  judg- 
ment from  the  world.  They  are  a  neglected  race,  who  seem  to 
have  been  excluded  from  the  pale  of  human  sympathy,  from 
mistaken  opinions  of  their  quality,  no  less  than  from  the  unpre- 
tending lowliness  of  their  position.     To  me,  they  have  always 


I 


ABE.  471 

appeared  as  a  people  of  agreeable  peculiarities,  and  not  without 
much  of  the  picturesque  in  the  development  of  their  habits  and 
feelings. 

When  it  was.  at  last,  announced  that  Abe  was  to  be  disposed 
of  in  the  manner  I  have  mentioned,  the  tidings  were  received  by 
the  mother  and  son  variously,  according  to  their  respective  tem- 
pers. Lucy  knew  no  difference  between  a  separation  by  a  hundred 
or  a  thousand  miles  :  she  counted  none  of  the  probabilities  of 
future  intercourse  ;  and  the  traditionary  belief  in  the  danger  of 
the  seas,  with  their  unknown  monsters,  and  all  the  frightful  stories 
of  maritime  diseister,  rose  upon  her  imagination  with  a  terrifying 
presage  of  ill  to  her  boy.  Abe,  on  the  other  hand,  received  the 
intelligence  with  the  most  callous  unconcern.  He  was  not  of  a 
frame  to  blench  at  peril,  or  fear  misfortune  ]  and  his  behavior 
rather  indicated  resentment  at  the  authority  that  was  exercised 
over  him.  than  anxiety  for  the  issue.  For  a  time,  he  mused  over 
this  feeling  in  sullen  silence :  but,  as  the  expected  change  of  his 
condition  became  the  subject  of  constant  allusion  among  hii: 
associates,  and  as  the  little  community  in  which  he  had  alwaj's 
lived  gathered  around  him,  with  some  signs  of  unusual  interest, 
to  talk  over  the  nature  of  his  emploj^ments,  a  great  deal  reached 
his  ears  from  the  older  negroes,  that  opened  upon  -his  mind  a 
train  of  perceptions  highly  congenial  to  the  latent  properties  of  his 
character.  His  imagination  was  awakened  by  the  attractions  of 
this  field  of  adventure  ;  by  the  free  roving  of  the  sailor ;  and  by 
the  tumultuous  and  spirit-stirring  roar  of  the  ocean,  as  they  were 
pictured  to  him  in  story.  His  person  grew  erect,  his  limbs  ex- 
panded to  their  natural  motion,  and  he  once  more  walked  with 
the  light  step  and  buoyant  feelings  of  his  young  and  wayward 
nature. 

The  time  of  departure  arrived.     A  sloop  that  had  been  lying 
at  anchor  in  the  creek,  opposite  to  Lucy's  cabin,  was  just  prepar- 


472  ABE.  i 

ing  to  sail.  The  mam-sail  was  slowly  opening  its  folds,  as  it  rose 
along  the  mast :  a  boat  with  two  negroes  had  put  off  for  the 
beach,  and  the  boatmen  landed  with  a  summons  to  Abe,  informing 
him  that  he  was  all  they  now  staid  for.  Abe  was  seated  on  his 
chest  in  front  of  the  dwelling ;  and  Lucy  sat  on  a  stool  beside 
him,  with  both  of  his  hands  clasped  in  hers.  Not  a  word  passed 
between  them  ;  and  the  heavings  of  the  old  woman's  bosom  might 
have  been  heard  by  the  standers-by.  A  bevy  of  negroes  stood 
around  them  :  the  young  ones,  in  ignorant  and  wondering  silence ; 
and  the  elders  conversing  with  each  other  in  smothered  tones, 
with  an  occasional  cheering  word  addressed  to  mammy  Lucy — as 
they  called  her.  Old  uncle  Jeff  was  conspicuous  in  this  scene. 
He  stood  in  the  group,  with  his  corncob  pipe,  puffing  the  smoke 
from  his  bolster-lips,  with  lugubriously  lengthened  visage. 

The  two  boatmen  pressed  into  the  crowd  to  speak  to  Lucy, 
but  were  arrested  by  the  solemn  Jefl',  who,  thrusting  out  his 
broad,  horny  hand,  and  planting  it  upon  the  breast  of  the  fore- 
most, whispered,  in  a  half  audible  voice, — "  The  old  woman's 
taking  on  ! — wait  a  bit — she'll  speak  presently  !" 

With  these  words,  the  whole  company  fell  into  silence  and 
continued  to  gaze  at  the  mother.  Abe  looked  up,  from  the  place 
wnere  ne  sat,  through  his  eyelashes,  at  the  little  circle,  with  an 
awkwardly  counterfeited  smile  playing  through  the  tears  that 
filled  his  eyes. 

"  It  a'most  goes  to  kill  her,"  whispered  one  of  the  woiren  to 
ner  neighbor. 

"  I've  seen  women,"  said  Jeff,  '^  this  here  way,  afore  in  my 
time  :  they  can  bear  a  monstrous  sight.  But,  when  they  can  once 
speak,  then  it's  done, — you  see." 

Lucy  was  now  approached  by  two  or  three  of  the  old  women, 
who  began  to  urge  some  feeble  topics  of  consolation  in  her  ear.  in 
that  simple  phrase  which  nature  .suj)plics,  and  which  had  more  of 


ABE.  473 

encouragement  in  its  tones  than  in  tbe  words :  but  the  only  re- 
sponse extracted  was  a  mute  shake  of  the  head,  and  a  sorrowful 
uplifting  of  the  eye,  accompanied  by  a  closer  grasp  of  the  liands 
of  Abe. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  Jeff,  as  he  poured  a  volume  of  smoke  from 
his  mouth,  and  spoke  in  a  deep  voice,  in  the  dialect  of  his  people, — 
"  it's  no  use  till  nature  takes  its  own  way.  When  the  tide  over 
yonder  (pointing  to  the  river)  comes  up,  speeches  arn't  going  to 
send  it  back:  when  an  old  woman's  heart  is  full  it's  just  like  the 
tide." 

"  The  wind  is  taking  hold  of  the  sail,"  said  one  of  the  boat- 
men, who  until  now  had  not  interfered  in  the  scene,  '•  and  the 
captain  has  no  time  to  stay." 

Lucy  looked  up  and  directed  her  eye  to  the  sloop,  whose  can- 
vas was  alternately  filling  and  shaking  in  the  wind,  as  the  boat 
vacillated  in  her  position.  The  last  moment  had  come.  The 
mother  arose  from  her  seat,  at  the  same  instant  witli  her  son,  and 
flung  herself  upon  his  neck,  where  she  wept  aloud. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  j^ou  so  !"  whispered  Jeff  to  some  old  crones  ; 
'•  when  it  can  get  out  of  the  bosom  by  the  eyes,  it  carries  a  mon- 
strous load  with  it." 

"  To  be  sure  !"  exclaimed  the  beldams,  which  is  a  form  of 
interjection  amongst  the  negroes,  to  express  both  assent  and 
wonder. 

This  burst  of  feeling  had  its  expected  effect  upon  Lucy.  She 
seemed  to  be  suddenly  relieved,  and  was  able  to  address  a  few 
short  words  of  parting  to  Abe  :  then  taking  from  the  plaits  of 
her  bosom,  a  small  leather  purse  containing  a  scant  stock  of  sil- 
ver,— the  hoard  of  past  years — she  put  it  into  the  unresisting 
hand  of  Abe.  The  boy  looked  at  the  faded  bag  for  a  moment, 
and  gathering  up  something  like  a  smile  upon  his  face,  he  forced 
the  money  back  upon  liis  mother,  himself  replacing  it  in  the  bosom 


I 


474  ABE. 

of  her  dress.  "  You  don't  think  I  am  going  to  take  your  money 
with  me  !"  said  he,  "  I  never  eared  about  the  best  silver  my  mas- 
ter ever  had :  no,  nor  for  freedom  neither.  I  thought  I  was 
always  going  to  stay  here  on  the  plantation.  I  would  rather  have 
the  handkerchief  you  wear  around  your  neck,  than  all  the  silver 
you  ever  owned." 

Lucy  took  the  handkerchief  from  her  shoulders,  and  put  it  in 
his  hand.  Abe  drew  it  into  a  loose  knot  about  his  throat,  then 
turned  briskly  round,  shook  hands  with  the  by-standers,  and, 
shouldering  his  chest,  moved  with  the  boatmen,  at  a  rapid  pace, 
towards  the  beach. 

In  a  few  moments  afterwards,  he  was  seen  standing  up  in  the 
boat,  as  it  shot  out  from  beneath  the  bank,  and  waving  his  hand 
to  the  dusky  group  he  had  just  left.  He  then  took  his  seat,  and 
was  watched  by  his  melancholy  tribe  until  the  sloop,  falling  away 
before  the  wind,  disappeared  behind  the  remotest  promontory. 

Lucy,  with  a  heavy  heart,  retired  within  her  cabin,  and  threw 
herself  upon  a  bed  ;  and  the  comforting  gossips  who  had  collect- 
ed before  the  door,  after  lingering  about  her  for  a  little  while, 
gradually  withdrew,  leaving  her  to  the  assiduities  of  her 
children. 

Some  years  elapsed ;  during  which  interval  frequent  reports 
had  reached  Swallow  Barn,  relating  to  the  conduct  and  condition 
of  Abe ;  and  he  himself  had,  once  or  twice,  revisited  the  family. 
Great  changes  had  been  wrought  upon  him  ;  he  had  grown  into 
a  sturdy  manhood,  invigorated  b}'^  the  hardy  discipline  of  his 
calling.  The  fearless  qualities  of  his  mind,  no  less  than  the 
activity  and  strength  of  his  body,  had  been  greatly  developed  to 
the  advantage  of  his  character ;  and,  what  does  not  unfrequently 
happen,  the  peculiar  adaptation  of  his  new  pursuits  to  the  tem- 
per and  cast  of  his  constitution,  had  operated  favorably  upon  his 
morals.     His  errant  propensities  had  been  gratified ;    and  the 


ABE.  475 

alternations  between  the  idleness  of  the  calm  and  tlic  strenuous 
and  exciting  bustle  of  the  storm,  were  pleasing  to  his  unsteady 
and  fitful  nature.  He  had  found,  in  other  habits,  a  vent  for  inclina- 
tions which,  when  constrained  by  his  former  monotonous  avoca- 
tions, had  so  often  broken  out  into  mischievous  adventures.  In 
short,  Abe  was  looked  upon  by  his  employers  as  a  valuable  sea- 
man ;  and  the  report  of  this  estimation  of  him  had  worked  won- 
ders in  his  favor  at  Swallow  Barn. 

From  the  period  of  his  departure  up  to  this  time,  poor  old 
Lucy  nursed  the  same  extravagant  feelings  towards  him ;  and 
these  were  even  kindled  into  a  warmer  flame  by  his  increasing 
good  repute.  Her  passion,  it  may  be  called,  was  a  subject  of 
constant  notice  in  the  family.  It  would  have  been  deemed  remark- 
able in  an  individual  of  the  most  delicate  nurture  ;  but  in  the 
aged  and  faithful  domestic,  it  was  a  subject  of  commiseration  on 
account  of  its  influence  upon  her  happiness,  and  had  almost 
induced  Meriwether  to  recall  Abe  to  his  former  occupation  ; 
although  he  was  sensible  that,  by  doing  so,  he  might  expose  him 
to  the  risk  of  relapsing  into  his  earlier  errors.  But,  besides  this. 
Abe  had  become  so  well  content  with  his  present  station  that  it 
was  extremely  likely  he  would,  of  his  own  accord,  have  sought  to 
return  to  it.  The  vagrant,  sunshiny,  and  billowy  life  of  a  sailor 
has  a  spell  in  it  that  works  marvellously  upon  the  heedless  and 
irresponsible  temperament  of  a  negro.  Abe  was,  therefore,  still 
permitted,  like  a  buoy,  to  dance  upon  the  waves,  and  to  woo  his 
various  destiny  between  the  lowest  trough  of  the  sea,  and  the 
highest  white-cap  of  the  billow. 

At  the  time  to  which  my  story  has  now  advanced,  an  event 
took  place  that  excited  great  interest  within  the  little  circle  of 
Swallow  Barn.  It  was  about  the  breaking  up  of  the  winter — 
towards  the  latter  end  of  February — some  four  years  ago,  that 
in  the  afternoon  of  a  cheerless  day.  news  arrived  at  Norfolk  that 


476  ABE. 

an  inward-bound  brig  had  struck  upon  the  shoal  of  the  middle 
ground,  (a  shallow  bar  that  stretches  seaward  beyond  the  mouth 
of  the  Chesapeake,  between  the  two  capes.)  and,  from  the  threat- 
ening aspect  of  the  weather,  the  crew  were  supposed  to  be  in 
great  danger.     It  was  a  cold,  blustering  day,  such  as   winter 
sometimes  puts  on  when  he  is  about  to  retreat : — as  a  squadron, 
vexed  with  watching  a  politic  enemy,  j&nding  itself  obliged,  at  last, 
to  raise  the  blockade,  is  apt  to  break  ground  with  an  unusual 
show  of  bravado.     The  wind  blew  in  gusts  from  the  northwest ;  a 
heavy  rack  of  dun  and  chilly  clouds  was  driven  churlishly  before  the 
blast,  and  spitted  out  some  rare  flakes  of  snow.     These  moving 
masses  were    forming  a  huge,  black  volume  upon  the  eastern 
horizon,  towards  the  ocean,  as  if  there  encountering  the  resist- 
ance of  an  adverse  gale.     From  the  west  the  sun  occasionally 
shot  forth  a  lurid  ray,  that,  for  the  instant,  flung  upon  this  dark 
pile  a  sombre,  purple  hue,  and  lighted  up  the  foam  that  gathered 
at  the  top  of  the  waves,  far  seaward  ;  thus  opening  short  glimpses 
of  that  dreary  ocean  over  which  darkness  was  brooding.     The 
sea-birds  soared  against  the  murky  vault  above  them ;  and,  now 
and  then,  caught  upon  their  white  wings  the  passing  beam,  that 
gave  them  almost  a  golden  radiance ;  whilst,  at  the  same  time, 
they  screamed  their  harsh  and  frequent  cries  of   fear   or  joy. 
The  surface  of  the  Chesapeake  was  lashed  up  into  a  fretful  sea,  and 
the  waves  were  repressed  by  the  weight  of  the  wind ;  billow  pursu- 
ing billow  with  an  angry  and  rapid  flight,  and  barking,  with  the 
snappish  sullenness  of  the  wolf.  Across  the  wide  expanse  of  Hamp- 
ton Road  might  have  been  seen  some  few  bay-craft,  apparently 
not  much  larger  than  the  wild-fowl  that  sailed  above  them,  beat- 
ing, with  a  fearful  anxiety,  against  the  gale,  for  such  harbors  as 
were  nearest  at  hand ;  or  scudding  before  it  under  close-reefed 
sails,  with  ungovernable  speed,  towards  the  anchorages  to  leeward. 
Every  moment   the    wind    increased    in    violence ;    the    clouds 


AUK.  477 

swept  nearer  to  the  waters  ;  tlie  gloom  thickened  ;  tlie  birds 
sought  safety  on  the  land  ;  the  little  barks  were  quickly  vanish- 
ing from  view  :  and,  before  the  hour  of  sunset,  earth,  air,  and  sea 
were  blended  into  one  mass,  in  which  the  eye  might  vainly  endea- 
vor to  define  the  boundaries  of  each  :  whilst  the  fierce  howling 
of  the  wind,  and  the  deafening  uproar  of  the  ocean  gave  a  deso- 
lation to  the  scene,  that  made  those,  who  looked  upon  it  from  the 
shore,  devoutly  thankful  that  no  ill  luck  had  tempted  them  upon 
the  flood. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  a  pilot-boat  was  seen  moored  to  a 
post  at  the  end  of  a  wooden  wharf  that  formed  the  principal 
landing-place  at  the  little  seaport  of  Hampton.  The  waves  were 
dnshing.  with  hollow  reverberations,  between  the  timbers  of  the 
wharf,  and  the  boat  was  rocking  with  a  violence  that  showed  the 
extreme  agitation  of  the  element  upon  which  it  floated.  Three 
or  four  sailors — all  negroes — clad  in  rough  pea-jackets,  with  blue 
and  red  woollen  caps,  were  standing  upon  the  wharf  or  upon  the 
deck  of  the  boat,  apparently  making  some  arrangements  for  ven- 
turing out  of  the  harbor.  The  principal  personage  among  them, 
whose  commands  were  given  with  a  bold  and  earnest  voice,  and 
promptly  obeyed,  was  our  stout  friend  Abe.  now  grown  into  the 
full  perfection  of  manhood,  with  a  frame  of  unsurpassed  strength 
and  agility.  At  the  nearer  extremity  of  this  wharf,  landward, 
were  a  few  other  mariners,  white  men,  of  a  weather-beaten  exterior, 
who  had  seemingly  just  walked  from  the  village  to  the  landing- 
place,  and  were  engaged  in  a  grave  consultation  upon  some 
question  of  interest.  This  group  approached  the  former  while 
they  were  yet  busy  with  the  tackling  of  the  boat.  Abe  had 
stepped  aboard  with  his  companions,  and  they  were  about  letting 
all  loose  for  their  departure. 

'•  What  do  you  think  of  it  now,  Abe  ?"  asked  one  of  the  older 
seamen,  as  he  turned  his  03- es  towards  the  hfeavens,  with  a  look  of 


478 


ABE 


concern.  "  Are  you  still  so  crazy  as  to  think  of  venturing  out  in 
this  gale  ?" 

"  The  storm  is  like  a  young  woit,"  replied  Abe.  '•  It  gets  one 
hour  older  and  two  worse.  But  this  isn't  the  hardest  blow  I 
ever  saw,  Master  Crocket." 

•'  It  will  be  so  dark  to-night,"  said  the  other,  "  that  you  will 
liot  be  able  to  see  your  jib ;  and,  by  the  time  the  wind  gets  round 
to  the  northeast,  vou  will   have  a   drift   of  snow  that  will  shut 


-VI 


masi 


mas 


3.'?^^' 


your  eyes.  It  will  be  a  dreadful  night  outside  of  the  capes  ;  1 
see  no  good  that  is  to  come  of  your  foolhardiness  " 

"  Snow-storm  or  hail-storm,  it's  all  one  to  me,"  answered  Abe. 
"The  little  Flying  Fish  has  ridden,  summer  and  winter,  over  as 
heavy  seas  as  ever  rolled  in  the  Chesapeake.  I  knows  what  she 
can  do,  you  see  !" 

"  Why,  you  couldn't  find  the  brig  if  you  were  within  a  cable's 
length  of  her.  such  a  niglit  as  this,"   said  another  speaker  ;  "  and 


% 
isbs 


'Ad 
[real 


p 


ABE.  470 


if  you  were  to  see  her  I  don't  know  how  you  are  to  get  along- 
side." 

••  You  wouldn't  say  so,  master  Wilson,"  returned  Abe,  "  if 
you  were  one  of  the  crew  of  the  brig  yourself.  We  can  try,  you 
know ;  and  if  no  good  comes  on  it,  let  them  that  sauni  me  judge 
iif  that.      I  always  obeys  orders  !" 

"  Well,"  replied  the  other.  '•  a  negro  that  is  born  to  be  hanged 
— you  know  the  rest,  Abe  : — the  devil  may  help  you,  as  he  some- 
times does." 

••  There  is  as  good  help  for  a  negro  as  there  is  for  a  white  man, 
master  Wilson — whether  on  land  or  water.  And  no  man  is  going 
to  die  till  his  time  comes.  I  don't  set  up  for  more  spirit  than 
other  people  ;  but  I  never  was  afeard  of  the  sea." 

During  this  short  dialogue,  Abe  and  his  comrades  were  busily 
reefing  the  sail,  and  they  had  now  completed  all  their  prepara- 
tions. The  day  had  come  very  near  to  the  hour  of  sunset.  Abe 
mustered  his  crew,  spoke  to  them  with  a  brave,  encouraging  tone, 
and  ordered  them  to  cast  off  from  the  wharf.  In  a  moment,  all 
hands  were  at  the  halyards  ;  and  the  buoyant  little  Flying  Fish 
sprang  from  her  mooring,  under  a  single  sail  double-reefed,  and 
bounded  along  before  the  wind,  like  an  exulting  doe,  loosened 
from  thraldom,  on  her  native  wastes. 

"  That's  a  daring  fellow !"  said  one  of  the  party  that  stood 
upon  the  wharf,  as  they  watched  the  gallant  boat  heaving  play- 
fully through  the  foam — ••  and  wouldn't  mind  going  to  sea  astride 
a  shark,  if  any  one  would  challenge  him  to  it." 

••  If  any  man  along  the  Chesapeake,"  said  the  other,  "  can 
handle  a  pilot-boat  such  weather — Abe  can.  But  it's  no  use  for 
a  man  to  be  tempting  Providence  in  this  way.     It  looks  wicked  !" 

••  He  is  on  a  good  errand."  interrupted  the  first  speaker. 
'•  And  God  send  him  a  successful  venture  !  That  negro  has  a 
great  deal  of  good  and  bad  both  in  him — but  the  good  has  the 
upper  hand." 


4S0  A  K  E  . 

The  Flying  Fish  was  soon  far  from  the  speakers,  and  now 
showed  her  little  sail,  as  she  bent  it  down  almost  to  kiss  the  wa- 
ter, a  spotless  vision  upon  the  dark  and  lowering  horizon  in  the 
east.  At  length  she  was  observed  close  hauled  upon  the  wind, 
and  rapidly  skimming  behind  the  headlands  of  Old  Point  Com- 
fort; whence,  after  some  interval,  she  again  emerged,  lessened  to 
the  size  of  a  water-fowl  by  distance,  and  holding  her  course,  with 
a  steady  and  resolute  speed,  into  the  palpable  obscure  of  the  per- 
spective. 

When  the  last  trace  of  this  winged  messenger  of  comfort  was 
lost  in  the  terrific  desert  of  ocean,  with  its  incumbent  night,  the 
watchful  and  anxious  spectators  on  the  wharf  turned  about  and 
directed  their  steps,  with  thoughtful  forebodings,  to  the  public 
house  at  some  distance  in  the  village. 

From  what  I  have  related,  the  reader  will  be  at  no  loss  to  un- 
derstand the  purpose  of  this  perilours  adventure.  The  fact  was, 
that  as  soon  as  the  intelligence  reached  Norfolk  that  the  brig  had 
got  into  the  dangerous  situation  which  I  have  described,  some  of 
the  good  people  of  that  borough  took  measures  to  communicate 
with  the  crew,  and  to  furnish  them  such  means  of  relief  as  the 
suddenness  of  the  emergency  enabled  them  to  command.  The 
most  obvious  suggestion  was  adopted  of  dispatching,  forthwith,  a 
small  vessel  to  bring  away  those  on  board,  if  it  should  be  ascer- 
tained that  there  was  no  hope  of  saving  the  brig  itself  This 
scheme,  however,  was  not  so  easy  of  accomplishment  as  it,  at  first, 
seemed.  Application  was  made  to  the  most  experienced  mariners 
in  port  to  undertake  this  voyage  ;  but,  they  either  evaded  the  du- 
^'Ji  ^y  suggesting  doubts  of  its  utility,  or  cast  their  eyes  towards 
the  heavens  and  significantly  shook  their  heads,  as  they  affirmed 
there  would  be  more  certainty  of  loss  to  the  deliverers  than  to 
the  people  of  the  stranded  vessel.  The  rising  tempest  and  the 
unruly  season  boded  disaster  to  whomsoever  should  be  so  rash  as 


ABE.  481 

to  encounter  the  hazard.  Rewards  were  offered  ;  but  these,  too^ 
failed  of  eflfect,  and  the  good  intentions  of  the  citizens  of  Norfolk 
were  well  nigh  disappointed,  when  chance  brought  the  subject  to 
the  knowledge  of  our  old  acquaintance  Abe.  This  stout-hearted 
black  happened  to  be  in  the  borough  at  the  time ;  and  was  one  of 
a  knot  of  seamen  who  were  discussing  the  proposition  of  the  chan- 
es  of  affording  relief  He  heard,  attentively,  all  that  was  said  in 
disparagement  of  the  projected  enterprise  ;  and  it  was  with  some 
emotion  of  secret  pleasure  that  he  learned  that  several  seamen  of 
established  reputation  had  declined  to  undertake  the  venture. 
The  predominant  pride  of  his  nature  was  aroused  ;  and  he  hasten- 
ed to  say,  that  whatever  terrors  this  voyage  had  for  others,  it  had 
none  for  him.  In  order,  therefore,  that  he  might  vouch  the  sin- 
cerity of  his  assertion  by  acts,  he  went  immediately  to  those  who 
had  interested  themselves  in  concerting  the  measure  of  relief,  and 
tendered  his  services  for  the  proposed  exploit.  As  may  be  sup- 
posed, they  were  eagerly  accepted.  Abe's  conditions  were,  that 
he  should  have  the  choice  of  his  boat,  and  the  selection  of  his 
crew.  These  terms  were  readily  granted  ;  and  he  set  off,  with  a 
busy  alacrity,  to  make  his  preparations.  The  Flying  Fish  was 
the  pilot-boat  in  which  Abe  had  often  sailed,  and  was  considered 
one  of  the  best  of  her  class  in  the  Chesapeake.  This  little  bark 
was,  accordingly,  demanded  for  the  service,  and  as  promptly  put 
at  Abe's  command.  She  was,  at  that  time,  lying  at  the  pier  at 
Hampton,  as  I  have  already  described  her.  The  crew,  from  some 
such  motive  of  pride  as  first  induced  Abe  to  volunteer  in  this 
cause,  was  selected  entirely  from  the  number  of  negro  seamen  then 
in  Norfolk.  They  amounted  to  four  or  five  of  the  most  daring  and 
robust  of  Abe's  associates,  who.  lured  by  the  hope  of  reward,  as 
well  as  impelled  by  that  spirit  of  rivalry  that  belongs  to  even  the 
lowest  classes  of  human  beings,  and  which  is  particularly  excita- 
ble in  the  breasts  of  men  who  are  trained  to  dangerous  achievo- 
•21 


482  ABE. 

ments,  readily  enlisted  in  the  expedition,  and  placed  themselves 
under  the  orders  of  their  gallant  and  venturous  captain. 

This  tender  of  service  and  its  acceptance,  produced  an  almost 
universal  reprobation  of  its  rashness,  from  the  sea-faring  men  of 
the  port.  And  while  all  acknowledged  that  the  enterprise  could 
not  have  been  committed  to  a  more  able  or  skilful  mariner  than 
Abe,  yet  it  was  declared  to  be  the  endeavor  of  a  fool-hardy  mad- 
man who  was  rushing  on  his  fate.  The  expression  of  such  dis- 
trust only  operated  as  an  additional  stimulant  to  Abe's  resolu- 
tion, and  served  to  hurry  him,  the  more  urgently  forward,  to  the 
execution  of  his  purpose.  He,  therefore,  with  such  dispatch  as 
the  nature  of  his  preparations  allowed,  mustered  his  intrepid  crew 
in  the  harbor  of  Norfolk,  and  repaired  with  them  to  the  oppo- 
site shore  of  the  James  River,  to  the  little  sea-port,  where  my 
reader  has  already  seen  him  embarking  upon  his  btaTe  voyage, 
amidst  the  disheartening  auguries  of  wise  and  disciplined  veter- 
ans of  the  sea. 

I  might  stop  to  compare  this  act  of  an  humble  and  unknown 
negro,  upon  the  Chesapeake,  with  the  many  similar  passages  in 
the  lives  of  heroes  whose  names  have  been  preserved  fresh  in  the 
verdure  of  history,  and  who  have  won  their  immortality  upon  less 
noble  feats  than  this ;  but  History  is  a  step-mother,  and  gives 
the  bauble  fame  to  her  own  children,  with  such  favoritism  as  she 
lists,  overlooking  many  a  goodly  portion  of  the  family  of  her  hus- 
band Time.  Still,  it  was  a  gallant  thing,  and  worthy  of  a  better 
chronicler  than  I,  to  see  this  leader  and  his  little  band — the  chil- 
dren of  a  despised  stock — swayed  by  a  noble  emulation  to  relieve 
the  distressed ;  and  (what  the  fashion  of  the  world  will  deem  a 
higher  glory)  impelled  by  that  love  of  daring  which  the  romancers 
call  chivalry — throwing  themselves  upon  the  unruly  waves  of 
winter,  and  flying,  on  the  wing  of  the  storm,  into  the  profound, 
dark  abyss  of  ocean,  when  all  his  terrors  were  gathering  in  tlicir 


ABE,  483 

most  hideous  forms  ;  when  the  spirit  of  ill  shrieked  in  the  blast, 
and  thick  night,  dreary  with  unusual  horrors,  was  falling  close 
around  them  ;  when  old  mariners  grew  pale  with  the  thought  of 
the  danger,  and  the  wisest  counselled  the  adventurers  against  the 
certain  doom  that  hung  upon  their  path : — I  say,  it  was  a  gallant 
sight  to  see  such  heroism  shining  out  in  an  humble  slave  of  the 
Old  Dominion  ! 

They  say  the  *night  that  followed  was  a  night  of  the  wildest 
horrors.  Not  a  star  twinkled  in  the  black  heavens :  the  winds 
rushed  forth,  like  some  pent-up  flood  suddenly  overbearing  its 
barriers,  and  swept  through  the  air  with  palpable  density  :  men, 
who  chanced  to  wander  at  that  time,  found  it  difficult  to  keep 
their  footing  on  the  land  :  the  steeples  of  Norfolk  groaned  with 
the  unwonted  pressure  ;  chimneys  were  blown  from  their  seats  ; 
houses  were  unroofed,  and  the  howling  elements  terrified  those 
who  were  gathered  around  their  own  hearths,  and  made  them  silent 
with  fear :  the  pious  fell  upon  their  knees:  nurses  could  not  hush 
their  children  to  sleep :  bold-hearted  revellers  were  dismayed, 
and  broke  up  their  meetings :  the  crash  of  trees,  fences,  out- 
buildings mingled  with  the  ravings  of  the  tempest :  the  icicles 
were  swept  from  the  eaves,  and  from  every  penthouse,  till  they 
fell  in  the  streets  like  hail :  ships  were  stranded  at  the  wharves, 
or  were  lifted,  by  an  unnatural  tide,  into  the  streets  :  the  ocean 
roared  with  more  terrific  bass  than  the  mighty  wind,  and  threw 
its  spray  into  the  near  heaven,  with  which  it  seemed  in  contact : 
and,  as  anxious  seamen  looked  out  at  intervals  during  the  night, 
towards  the  Atlantic,  the  light-house,  that  usually  shot  its  ray  over 
the  deep,  was  invisible  to  their  gaze,  or  seemed  only  by  glimp- 
ses, like  a  little  star  immeasurably  remote,  wading  through  foam 
and  darkness. 

What  became  of  our  argonauts  ? — The  next  morning  told  the 
tale.     One  seaman  alone  of  the  brig  survived  to  relate  the  fate  of 


484  ABE. 

his  companions.  In  the  darkest  hour  of  the  night  their  vessel 
went  to  pieces,  and  every  soul  on  board  perished,  except  this  man. 
He  had  bound  himself  to  a  spar,  and,  by  that  miraculous  fortune 
which  the  frequent  history  of  shipwreck  recounts,  ho  was  thrown 
upon  the  beach  near  Cape  Henry.  Bruised,  chafed,  and  almost 
dead,  he  was  discovered  in  the  morning  and  carried  to  a  neigh- 
boring house,  where  care  and  nursing  restored  him  to  his  strength. 
All  that  this  mariner  could  tell  was,  that  early  in  the  night, — 
perhaps  about  eight  o'clock, — and  before  the  storm  had  risen  to 
its  height,  (although,  at  that  hour,  it  raged  with  fearful  vehemence,) 
a  light  was  seen  gliding,  with  the  swiftness  of  a  meteor,  past  the 
wreck ;  a  hailing  cry  was  heard  as  from  a  trumpet,  but  the  wind 
smothered  its  tones  and  rendered  them  inarticulate  ;  and,  in  the 
next  moment,  the  spectre  of  a  sail  (for  no  one  of  the  sufferers  be- 
lieved it  real)  flitted  by  them,  as  with  a  rush  of  wings,  so  close 
that  some  affirmed  they  could  have  touched  it  with  their  hands  : 
that,  about  an  hour  afterwards,  the  same  hideous  phantom,  with 
the  same  awful  salutation,  was  seen  and  heard  by  many  on  board, 
a  second  time  :  that  the  crew,  terrified  by  this  warning,  made  all 
preparations  to  meet  their  fate  ;  and  when  at  last,  in  the  highest 
exasperation  of  the  storm,  the  same  apparition  made  its  third 
visit,  the  timbers  of  the  brig  parted  at  every  joint,  and  all,  ex- 
cept the  relator  himself,  were  supposed  to  have  been  ingulfed 
in  the  wave,  and  given  to  instant  death. 

Such,  was  the  sum  of  this  man's  story.  What  was  subsequent- 
ly known,  proved  its  most  horrible  conjecture  to  be  fatally  true. 

Various  speculation  was  indulged,  during  the  first  week  after 
this  disaster,  as  to  the  destiny  of  Abe  and  his  companions.  No 
tidings  having  arrived,  some  affirmed  that  nothing  more  would 
ever  be  heard  of  them.  Others  said  that  they  might  have  luffed 
up  close  in  the  wind  and  ridden  out  the  night,  as  the  Flying  Fish 
was  stanch  and  true :    others,  again,  held  that  there  was  even  a 


ABE.  485 

chance,  that  they  had  scudded  before  the  gale,  and,  having  good 
sea-room,  had  escaped  into  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic.  No  ves- 
sels appeared  upon  the  coast  for  several  days,  and  the  hope  of 
receiving  news  of  Abe,  was  not  abandoned. 

The  next  week  came  and  went.  There  were  arrivals,  but  no 
word  of  the  Flying  Fish.  Anxiety  began  to  give  way  to  the  con- 
viction that  all  were  lost.  But,  when  the  third  week  passed  over, 
and  commerce  grew  frequent,  as  the  spring  advanced,  all  doubts 
were  abandoned,  and  the  loss  of  the  Flying  Fish  and  her  crew, 
ceased  any  longer  to  furnish  topics  of  discussion. 

My  reader  must  now  get  back  to  Swallow  Barn.  The  story 
of  Abe's  adventure  had  reached  the  plantation,  greatly  exaggerated 
in  all  the  details ;  none  of  which  were  concealed  from  Lucy.  On 
the  contrary,  the  wonder-loving  women  of  the  Quarter  daily  re- 
ported to  her  additional  particulars,  filled  with  extravagant 
marvels,  in  which,  so  far  from  manifesting  a  desire  to  soothe  the 
feelings  of  the  mother  and  reconcile  her  to  the  doom  of  Abe,  all 
manner  of  appalling  circumstances  were  added,  as  if  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  giving  a  higher  gust  to  the  tale. 

It  may  appear  unaccountable,  but  it  was  the  fact,  that  Lucy, 
instead  of  giving  herself  up  to  such  grief  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  her  attachment  to  her  son,  received  the  intelligence 
even  with  composure.  She  shed  no  tears,  and  scarcely  deserted 
her  customary  occupations.  She  was  remarked  only  to  have 
become  more  solitary  in  her  habits,  and  to  evince  an  urgent  and 
eager  solicitude  to  hear  whatever  came  from  Norfolk,  or  from  the 
Chesapeake.  Scarcely  a  stranger  visited  Swallow  Barn,  for  some 
months  after  the  event  I  have  recounted,  that  the  old  woman  did 
not  take  an  occasion  to  hold  some  conversation  with  him  ;  in  which 
all  her  inquiries  tended  to  the  tidings  which  might  have  existed 
of  the  missing  seamen. 

As  time  rolled  on,  Lucy's  anxiety  seemed  rather  to  increase ; 


486  ABE. 

and  it  wrought  severely  upon  her  health.  She  was  observed  to 
he  falling  fast  into  the  weakness  and  decrepitude  of  age :  her 
temper  grew  fretful,  and  her  pursuits  still  more  lonesome.  Fre- 
quently, she  shut  herself  up  in  her  cabin  for  a  week  or  a  fortnight, 
during  which  periods  she  refused  to  be  seen  by  any  one.  x\nd 
now,  tears  began  to  visit  her  withered  cheeks.  Meriwether  made 
frequent  efforts  to  reason  her  out  of  this  painful  melancholy  ;  her 
reply  to  all  his  arguments  was  uniformly  the  same ; — it  was 
simple  and  affecting — "  I  cannot  give  him  up,  master  Frank  !" 

In  this  way  a  year  elapsed ;  but,  with  its  passage,  came  no 
confirmation  to  Lucy's  mind  of  the  fate  of  her  son ;  and  so  far 
was  time  from  bringing  an  assuagement  of  her  grief,  that  it  only 
cast  a  more  permanent  dejection  over  her  mind.     She  spoke  con- 
tinually upon  the  subject  of  Abe's  return,  whenever  she  conversed 
with  any  one ;  and  her  fancy  was  filled  with  notions  of  preter- 
natural warnings,  which  she  had  received  in  dreams,  and  in  her 
solitary  communings  with  herself.     The  females  of  the  family  at 
Swallow  Barn  exercised  the  most  tender  assiduities  towards  the 
old  servant,  and  directed  all  their  persuasions  to  impress  upon 
her  the  positive  certainty  of  the  loss  of  Abe ;  they  endeavored 
to  lift  up  her  perception  to  the  consolations  of  religion, — but  the 
insuperable  difficulty  which  they  found  in  the  way  of  all  attempts 
to  comfort  her,  was  the  impossibility  of  convincing  her  that  the 
case  was,  even  yet,  hopeless.     That  dreadful  suspense  of  the  mind, 
when  it  trembles  in  the  balance  between  a  mother's   instinctive 
love  for  her  offspring,  on  the  one  side,  and  the  thought  of  its 
perdition  on  the  other,  was  more  than  the  philosophy  or  resigna- 
tion of  an  ignorant  old  negro  woman  could  overcome.     It  was  to 
her  the  sickness  of  the  heart  that  belongs  to  hope  deferred, — and 
the  more  poignant,  because  the  subject  of  it  was  incapable  of  even 
that  moderate  and  common  share  of  reason  that  would  have 
intelligently  weighed  the  facts  of  the  case. 


ItffS 

yield 
ofti( 
fori 
incc 


kr 


Wlj 

mor: 


ABE.  497 

Months  were  now  added  to  the  year  of  unavailing  regrets  that 
had  been  spent.  No  one  ever  heard  Lucy  say  wherefore,  but  all 
knew  that  she  still  reckoned  Abe's  return  amongst  expected  events. 
It  was  now,  in  the  vain  thought  that  the  old  woman's  mind  would 
yield  to  the  certainty  implied  by  the  lapse  of  time  and  the  absence 
of  tidings,  that  my  cousin  Lucretia  prepared  a  suit  of  mourning 
for  her,  and  sent  it,  with  an  exhortation  that  she  would  wear  it 
in  commemoration  of  the  death  of  her  son.  Meriwether  laid  some 
stress  upon  this  device ;  for,  he  said^  grief  was  a  selfish  emotion, 
and  had  some  strange  alliance  with  vanity. — It  was  a  metaphysi- 
cal conceit  of  his,  which  was  founded  in  deep  observation ;  and  he 
looked  to  see  it  illustrated  in  the  effect  of  the  mourning  present 
upon  Lucy.  She  took  the  dress — it  was  of  some  fine  bombazet, — 
gazed  at  it,  with  a  curious  and  melancholy  eye,  and  then  shook 
her  head  and  said, — it  was  a  mistake : — '•  I  will  never  put  on 
that  dress,"  she  observed.  "  because  it  would  be  bad  luck  to  Abe. 
What  would  Abe  say  if  he  was  to  catch  mammy  Lucy  wearing 
black  clothes  for  him  ?" 

They  left  the  dress  with  her,  and  she  was  seen  to  put  it  care- 
fully away.  Some  say  that  she  was  observed  in  her  cabin,  one 
morning  soon  after  this,  through  the  window,  dressed  out  in  this 
suit ;  but  she  was  never  known  to  wear  it  at  any  other  time. 
About  this  period,  she  began  to  give  manifest  indications  of  a 
decay  of  reason.  This  was  first  exhibited  in  unusual  wanderings, 
by  night,  into  the  neighboring  wood ;  and  then,  by  a  growing 
habit  of  speaking  and  singing  to  herself.  "With  the  loss  of  her 
mind  her  frame  still  wasted  away,  and  she  gradually  began  to 
lose  her  erect  position. 

Amongst  the  eccentric  and  painful  developments  of  her  in- 
creasing aberration  of  mind,  was  one  which  presented  the  pre- 
dominating illusion  that  beset  her  in  an  unusually  vivid  point  of 
view. 


488  ABE. 

One  dark  and  blustering  night  of  winter,  the  third  anniversary 
of  that  on  which  Abe  had  sailed  upon  his  desperate  voyage, — for 
Lucy  had  noted  the  date,  although  others  had  not, — near  midnight, 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Quarter  were  roused  from  their  respective 
cabins  by  loud  knockings  in  succession  at  their  doors  ;  and  when 
each  was  opened,  there  stood  the  decrepit  figure  of  old  Lucy,  who 
was  thus  making  a  circuit  to  invite  her  neighbors,  as  she  said,  to 
her  house. 

"  He  has  come  back  !"  said  Lucy  to  each  one,  as  they  loosed 
their  bolts ;  "  he  has  come  back !  I  always  told  you  he  would 
come  back  upon  this  very  night !  Come  and  see  him  !  Come 
and  see  him  !     Abe  is  waiting  to  see  his  friends  to-night." 

Either  awed  by  the  superstitious  feeling  that  a  maniac  inspires 
in  the  breasts  of  the  ignorant,  or  incited  by  curiosity,  most  of  the 
old  negroes  followed  Lucy  to  her  cabin.  As  they  approached  it. 
the  windows  gleamed  with  a  broad  light,  and  it  was  with  some 
strange  sensations  of  terror  that  they  assembled  at  her  threshold, 
where  she  stood  upon  the  step,  with  her  hand  upon  the  latch. 
Before  she  opened  the  door  to  admit  her  wondering  guests,  she 
applied  her  mouth  to  the  keyhole,  and  said  in  an  audible  whis- 
per, "  Abe,  the  people  are  all  ready  to  see  you,  honey  !  Don'i 
be  frightened, — there's  nobody  will  do  you  harm  !" 

Then,  turning  towards  her  companions,  she  said,  bowing  her 
head, — 

"  Come  in,  good  folks  !  There's  plenty  for  you  all.  Come  ir 
and  see  how  he  is  grown  !" 

She  now  threw  open  the  door,  and,  followed  by  the  rest 
entered  the  room.     There  was  a  small  table  set  out,  covered  witl 
a  sheet ;  and  upon  it  three  or  four  candles  were  placed  in  bottle; 
for  candlesticks.     All  the  chairs  she  had  were  ran£:cd  around  thi 
table,  and  a  bright  fire  blazed  in  the  hearth. 

"  Speak  to  them,  Abe  !"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a  broat 


ABE  489 

laugh.  '•  This  is  uncle  Jeff,  and  here  is  Dinah,  and  here  is  Ben," 
— and  in  this  manner  she  ran  over  the  names  of  all  present ;  tlien 
continued, — 

"  Sit  down,  you  negroes  !  Have  you  no  manners  ?  Sit  down 
and  eat  as  much  as  you  choose ;  there  is  plenty  in  the  house. 
Mammy  Lucy  knew  Abe  was  coming :  and  see  what  a  fine  feast 
she  has  made  for  him  !" 

She  now  seated  herself,  and  addressing  an  empty  chair  beside 
her,  as  if  some  one  occupied  it,  lavished  upon  the  imaginary  x\be 
a  thousand  expressions  of  solicitude  and  kindness.  At  length 
she  said; — 

'•  The  poor  boy  is  tired,  for  he  has  not  slept  these  many  long 
nights.  You  must  leave  him  now  : — he  will  go  to  bed.  Get  you 
gone  !  get  you  gone !  you  have  all  eaten  enough  !" 

Dismayed  and  wrought  upon  by  the  unnatural  aspect  of  the 
scene,  the  party  of  visitors  quitted  the  cabin  almost  immediately 
upon  the  command  :  and  the  crazed  old  menial  was  left  alone  to 
indulge  her  sad  communion  with  the  vision  of  her  fancy. 

From  that  time  until  the  period  at  which  I  saw  her,  she  con- 
tinued occasionally  to  exhibit  the  same  evidences  of  insanity. 
There  were  intervals,  however,  in  which  she  appeared  almost 
restored  to  her  reason.  During  one  of  these,  some  of  the  negroes 
hoping  to  remove  the  illusion  that  Abe  was  still  alive,  brought 
her  a  handkerchief  resembling  that  which  she  had  given  to  him 
on  his  first  departure  ;  and,  in  delivering  it  to  her.  reported  a 
fabricated  tale,  that  it  had  been  taken  from  around  the  neck  of 
Abe,  by  a  sailor  who  had  seen  the  body  washed  up  by  the  tide 
upon  the  beach  of  the  sea,  and  had  sent  this  relic  to  Lucy  as  a 
token  of  her  son's  death.  She  seemed,  at  last,  to  believe  the 
tale  ;  and  took  the  handkerchief  and.  put  it  away  in  her  bosom. 
This  event  only  gave  a  more  sober  tone  to  her  madness.  She 
now  keeps  more  closely  over  her  hearth,  where  she  generally 
21* 


490  ""^^^ 


Sometimes  she  is  heard  muttering  to  herseit,       "■     ^     ^       ,     , 
tr;  in  the  sand,  of  the  sea,"  wMch  she  will  repeat  a  hup  red 
t-1     At  others,  she  falls  into  a  sad  but  whimsical  speculat  on 
r  drift  of  which  is  implied  in  the  question  that^^^^P^J 
Meriwether  whilst  we  remained  in  her  cottage;-  How  many 
years  may  a  ship  sail  at  sea  without  stopping  1 


iit 


CHAPTER  XLVIIL 

CLOUDS. 

The  time  liad  now  arrived  wlien  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  re- 
turn to  New- York.  It  was  almost  two  months  since  I  had  left 
home,  and  I  was  cautioned  hy  my  northern  friends  not  to  remain 
in  the  low-country  of  Virginia  longer  than  until  the  middle  of 
August.  Hazard  endeavored  to  persuade  me  that  the  season  had 
all  the  indications  of  being  unusually  healthy,  and  that  I  might 
therefore  remain  without  risk.  He  had  manifestly  views  of  his 
own  to  be  improved  by  my  delay,  which  rendered  him  rather  an 
interested  adviser  ;  and,  in  truth,  we  had  grown  so  intimate  by 
our  late  associations,  that  I  felt  it  somewhat  difficult  to  bring  my- 
self to  the  necessary  resolution  of  taking  leave.  But  go  I  must 
— or  inflict  upon  my  good  mother  and  sisters  that  feminine  tor- 
ture which  visits  the  bosoms  of  this  solicitous  sex  when  once 
their  apprehensions  are  excited  on  any  question  of  health.  I 
therefore  announced  my  fixed  determination  on  the  subject  to  the 
family,  and  pertinaciously  met  all  the  arguments  which  were 
directed  to  unsettle  my  resolve,  with  that  hardy  denial  of  assent 
which  is  the  only  refuge  of  a  man  in  such  a  case.  My  prepara- 
tions were  made,  and  the  day  of  my  departure  was  named. 

Unluckily  for  my  plan,  the  elements  made  war  against  it. 
The  very  day  before  my  allotted  time,  there  came   on  a  soft 


492  CLOUDS. 

drizzling  rain,  which  began  soon  after  breakfast;  and  when  we 
met  at  dinner.  Hazard  came  to  me,  rubbing  his  hands  and  smil- 
ing with  a  look  of  triumph,  to  tell  me  that  however  obstinate  I 
might  be  in  my  purpose,  here  was  a  flat  interdict  upon  it. 

"  AVe  generally  have,"  said  he,  "  what  we  call  a  long  spell  in 
August.     The  rain  has  begun ;  and  you  may  consider  yourself 
fortunate  if  you  get  away  in  a  week."     I  took  it  as  a  jest ;  but 
the  next  morning,  when  I  went  to  my  chamber-window,  I  found 
that  Ned's  exultation  was  not  without  some  reason.     It  had 
rained  all  night,  not  in  hard  showers,  but  in  that  gentle,  noise 
less  outpouring  of  the  heavens,  which  showed  that  they  meant  to 
take  their  own  time  to  disburthen  themselves  of  their  vapor. 
Far  as  my  eye  could  reach,  the  firmament  was  clad  in  one  broad, 
heavy,  gray  robe.     The  light  was  equally  diffused  over  this  mass, 
so  as  entirely  to  conceal  the  position  of  the  sun ;  and,  somewhat 
nearer  to  earth,  small  detachments  of  dun  clouds  floated  across 
the  sky  in  swift  transit,  as  if  hastening  to  find  their  place  in  the 
ranks  of  the  sombre  army  near  the  horizon.     I  came  down  to 
breakfast,  where  the  family  were  assembled  at  a  much  later  hour 
than  usual.     A  small  fire  was  burning  in  the  hearth  :  the  ladies 
were  in  undress,  and  something  of  the  complexion  of  the  sky 
seemed  to  have  settled  upon  the  countenances  of  all  around  me ; 
— a  quiet,  unelastic,  sober  considerateness,  that  was  not  so  fre- 
quently disturbed  as  before  with  outbreaks  of  merriment.     My 
cousin  Lucretia  poured  out  our  coffee  with  a  more  sedate  and 
careful  attention:  Prudence  looked  as  if  she  had  overslept  her- 
self:— Meriwether  hung  longer  over  the  newspaper  than  common, 
and  permitted  us  to  take  our  seats  at  table  some  time  before  he 
gave  up  reading  the  news.     The  little  girls  had  a  world  of   care 
upon  their  shoulders  ; — and  Parson   Chub  dispatched  his  meal 
with  unwonted  expedition,  and  then,  thrustipg  his  hands  into  his 
pockets,  went  into  the  hall,  and  walked  to  and  fro  thoughtfully. 


CLOUDS  493 

Hazard  was  the  ouly  one  of  the  party  who  appeared  untouehed 
by  the  change  of  the  weather  ;  aud  he  kept  his  spirits  up  by  fre- 
quent sallies  of  felicitation  directed  to  me,  on  the  auspicious  pros- 
pect I  had  before  me. 

After  breakfast,  we  went  to  the  door.  The  rain  pattered  in- 
dustriously from  the  eaves  down  upon  the  rose-bushes.  The  gra- 
vel walk  was  intersected  by  little  rivers  that  also  ran  along  its 
borders :  and  the  grass-plots  were  filled  with  lakes.  The  old  wil- 
low, saturated  with  rain,  wept  profuse  tears,  down  every  trickling 
fibie.  upon  the  ground.  The  ducks  were  gathered  at  the  foot  of 
this  venerable  monument,  aud  rested  in  profound  quiet,  with 
their  heads  under  their  wings.  Beyond  the  gate,  an  old  plough- 
horse  spent  his  holiday  from  labor  in  undisturbed  idleness — his 
head  downcast,  his  tail  close  to  his  rump  and  his  position  motion- 
less, as  some  inanimate  thing,  only  giving  signs  of  life  by  an  oc- 
casional slow  lifting  up  of  his  bead — as  if  to  observe  the  weather 
— and  a  short,  horse-like  sneeze. 

The  rain  poured  on ;  and  now  and  then  some  one  affirmed  that 
it  grew  brighter,  and  that,  perhaps,  at  mid-day  it  would  clear  up. 
But  mid-day  came,  and  the  same  continual  dripping  fell  from 
leaf,  and  roof,  and  fence.  There  was  neither  light  nor  shade  :  all 
the  picturesque  had  vanished  from  the  landscape  :  the  foreground 
was  full  of  falling  drops,  and  the  perspective  was  mist.  The  dogs 
crept  beneath  the  porch,  or  intruded  with  their  shaggy  and  rain- 
besprinkled  coats,  into  the  hall,  leaving  their  footsteps  marked  up- 
on the  floor  wherever  they  walked.  The  negro  women  ran  across 
the  yard  with  their  aprons  thrown  over  their  heads.  The  work- 
ing men  moved  leisurely  along,  like  sable  water-gods,  dripping 
from  every  point,  their  hats  softened  into  cloth-like  consistence, 
and  their  faces  beneath  them  long,  sober,  and  trist.  During  the 
day  Rip  made  frequent  excursions  out  of  doors,  and  returned  into 
the  house  with  shoes  covered  with  mud,  much  to  the  annoyance  of 


1 

494  CLOUDS. 

Mrs.  Winkle,  who  kept  up  a  quick  and  galling  fire  of  reproof  upon 
the  young  scapegrace.  As  for  Hazard  and  myself,  we  betook 
ourselves  to  the  library,  whither  Meriwether  had  gone  before  us, 
and  there  rambled  through  the  thousand  flowery  by-paths  of 
miscellaneous  literature  ;  changing  our  topics  of  study  every  mo- 
ment, and  continually  interrupting  each  other  by  reading  aloud 
whatever  passages  occurred  to  provoke  a  laugh.  This  grew  te- 
dious in  turn ;  and  then  we  repaired  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
we  found  the  ladies  in  a  similar  unquiet  mood,  making  the  like 
experiments  upon  the  piano.     We  were  all  nervous. 

Thus  came  and  went  the  day.  The  next  was  no  better. 
When  I  again  looked  out  in  the  morning,  there  stood  the 
weeping  willow  the  same  vegetable  Niobe  as  before,  and  there 
the  meditative  ducks ;  there  the  same  horse, — or  another  like  him 
— looking  into  the  inscrutable  recesses  of  a  fence  corner;  and 
there  the  dogs,  and  the  muddy-footed  Rip.  To  vary  the  scene, 
we  took  umbrellas  and  walked  out,  holding  our  way  trippingly 
over  the  wet  path  towards  the  bridge.  The  pigeons,  like  our- 
selves, tired  of  keeping  the  house,  had  ranged  themselves  upon 
the  top  of  the  stable,  or  on  the  perches  before  the  doors  of  their 
own  domicil,  dripping  images  of  disconsolateness.  A  stray  flock 
of  blackbirds  sometimes  ventured  across  the  welkin ;  and  the 
cows,  in  defiance  of  the  damp  earth,  had  composedly  lain  down  in 
the  mud.  The  only  living  thing  who  seemed  to  feel  no  incon- 
venience from  the  season  was  the  hog,  who  pursued  his  epicurean 
ramble  in  despite  of  the  elements. 

The  rain  poured  on ;  and  the  soaked  field  and  drenched  forest 
bad  no  pleasure  in  our  eyes ;  so,  we  returned  to  the  house,  and 
again  took  refuge  in  the  library.  Despairing  of  the  sun,  I  at 
length  sat  down  to  serious  study,  and  soon  found  myself  occupied 
in  a  pursuit  that  engrossed  all  my  attention. 

I  have  said  before  that  Meriwether  had  a  good  collection  of 


CLOUDS.  405 

.  books.  These  had  been  brought  together  without  order  in  the 
selection,  and  they  presented  a  mass  of  curious  literature  in  al- 
most every  department  of  knowledge.  My  love  of  the  obsolete 
led  me  amongst  the  heavy  folios  and  quartos  that  lumbered  the 
lower  shelves  of  the  library,  where  I  pitched  upon  a  thin,  tall 
folio,  which  contained  the  following  pithy  title-page:  "  Some  ac- 
count of  the  Renowned  Captayne  John  Smith,  with  his  travel 
and  adventures  in  the  Foure  Quarters  of  the  Earthe  ;  showing 
his  gallante  Portaunce  in  divers  perillous  Chaunces,  both  by  Sea 
and  Land :  his  Feats  against  the  Turke,  and  his  dolefull  Cap- 
tivitie  in  Tartaria.  Also,  what  befell  in  his  Endeavours  towards 
the  Planting  of  the  Colonic  of  Virginia ;  and,  in  especiall,  his 
Marvellous  Prouess  and  Incredible  Escapes  amongst  the  Barba- 
rous Salvages.  Together  with  Sundrie  other  Moving  Accidents 
in  his  Historic.  London.  Imprinted  for  Edward  Blackmore, 
162—." 

This  title  was  set  out  in  many  varieties  of  type,  and  occupied 
but  a  small  portion  of  the  page,  being  encompassed  by  a  broad 
margin  which  was  richly  illuminated  with  a  series  of  heraldic 
ornaments,  amongst  which  was  conspicuous  the  shield  with  three 
turbaned  heads  and  the  motto  "vincere  est  vivere."  There  were, 
also,  graphic  representations  of  soldiers,  savages,  and  trees,  all 
colored  according  to  nature,  and,  as  the  legend  at  the  foot  im- 
ported, "  graven  by  John  Barra." 

The  date  of  the  work  had  been  partially  obliterated. — three 
numerals  of  the  year  being  only  distinguishable ;  but  from  these 
it  was  apparent  that  this  memoir  was  published  somewhere  about 
the  end  of  the  first  quarter  of  the  seventeenth  century— perhaps 
about  1625,  or  not  later  than  1629. 

The  exploits  of  Captain  Smith  had  a  wonderful  charm  for 
that  period  of  my  life  when  the  American  Nepos  supplied  the 
whole  amount  of  my  reading ;  but  I  have  never,  since  that  boy- 


496  CLOUDS. 

ish  day,  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire  whether  I  was  indebted  for 
the  captivation  of  the  story  to  the  events  it  recorded,  or  to  my 
own  pleasant  credulity, — that  natural  stomach  for  the  marvel- 
lous, which,  in  early  youth,  will  digest  agate  and  steel.  This  lit- 
tle chronicle,  therefore,  came  most  opportunely  in  my  way  ;  and 
I  gave  myself  up  to  the  perusal  of  it  with  an  eager  appetite. 

I  was  now  on  the  spot  where  Smith  had  achieved  some  of  his 
most  gallant  wonders.  The  narrative  was  no  longer  the  mere 
fable  that  delighted  my  childhood ;  but  here  I  had  it  in  its  most 
authentic  form,  with  the  identical  print,  paper  and  binding  in 
which  the  story  was  first  given  to  the  world  by  its  narrator — for 
aught  that  I  knew,  the  Captain  himself-— perhaps  the  Captain's 
good  friend,  old  Sam  Purchas,  who  had  such  a  laudable  thirst  for 
the  wonderful.  This  was  published,  too,  when  thousands  were 
living  to  confute  the  author  if  he  falsified  in  any  point. 

And  here,  on  a  conspicuous  page,  was  "  An  Exact  Portraic- 
tuer  of  Captayne  lohn  Smith,  Admiral  of  all  New  England," 
taken  to  the  life  ;  with  his  lofty  brow  that  imported  absolute  ver- 
ity on  the  face  of  it,  and  his  piercing  eye,  and  fine  plirenological 
head,  with  a  beard  of  the  ancient  spade  cut ;  arrayed  in  his  pro- 
per doublet,  with  gorget  and  ruflf;  one  arm  a-kimbo,  the  other 
resting  on  his  sword.  Below  the  picture  were  some  fair  lines  in- 
ferring that  he  "  was  brass  without,  and  gold  within."  Through- 
out the  volume,  moreover,  were  sundry  cuts  showing  the  Captain 
in  his  most  imminent  hazards,  of  a  flattering  fancy,  but  in  total 
disregard  of  all  perspective.  And  here,  in  view  of  the  window, 
was  the  broad  James  River,  upon  which  he  and  his  faithful 
Mosco  (otherwise  called  by  the  more  euphonious  name  of  Utta- 
santasough),  two  hundred  years  gone  by,  had  sailed,  in  defiance 
of  twenty  kings  whose  very  names  I  am  afraid  to  write.  His- 
tory is  never  so  charming  as  under  the  spell  of  such  associations ; 
the  narrative  avouched  by  present  monuments,  and  facts  suffi- 


OLotrns.  407 

cicntly  dim  by  distance,  for  the  imagination  to  make  what  it 
pleases  out  of  it,  without  impugning  the  veracity  of  the  story. 

I  have  sometimes  marvelled  why  our  countrymen,  and  espe- 
cially those  of  Virginia,  have  not  taken  more  pains  to  exalt  the 
memory  of  Smith.  With  the  exception  of  the  little  summary  of 
the  schools,  that  I  have  before  noticed. — and  which  is  unfortu- 
nately falling  into  disuse, — some  general  references  to  his  ex- 
ploits as  they  are  connected  with  the  history  of  our  States,  and  an 
almost  forgotten  memoir  by  Stith,  we  have  nothing  to  record  the 
early  adventures  and  chivalric  virtues  of  the  good  soldier,  unless  it 
be  some  such  obsolete  and  quaint  chronicle  as  this  of  Swallow  Barn, 
which  no  one  sees.  He  deserves  to  be  popularly  known  for  his 
high  public  spirit,  and  to  have  his  life  illustrated  in  some  well 
told  tale  that  should  travel  with  Robinson  Crusoe  and  the  Alma- 
nack— at  least  through  the  Old  Dominion : — and  in  the  Council 
Chamber  at  Richmond,  or  in  the  Hall  of  Delegates,  the  doughty 
champion  should  be  exhibited  on  canvas  in  some  of  his  most  pic- 
turesque conjunctures.  And  then,  he  should  be  lifted  to  that 
highest  of  all  glorifications, — the  truest  touchstone  of  renown, — 
the  signposts. 

Smith's  character  was  moulded  in  the  richest  fashion  of  an- 
cient chivalry  ;  and,  without  losing  any  thing  of  romance,  was 
dedicated,  in  his  maturer  years,  to  the  useful  purposes  of  life.  It 
was  marked  by  great  devotion  to  his  purpose,  a  generous  estimate 
of  the  public  good,  and  an  utter  contempt  of  danger.  In  the  age 
in  which  he  lived,  nobleness  of  birth  was  an  essential  condition  to 
fiime.  This,  unfortunately  for  the  renown  of  Smith,  he  did  not 
possess  ;  otherwise,  he  would  have  been  as  distinguished  in  his- 
tory as  Bayard,  Gaston  de  Foix,  Sir  Walter  Manny,  or  any  other 
of  the  mirrors  of  knighthood  whose  exploits  have  found  a  histo- 
rian. Smith,  however,  was  poor,  and  was  obliged  to  carve  his  way 
to  fame  without  the  aid  of  chroniclers  ;  and  there  is,  consequently, 


fll 


498  CLOUDS. 

a  great  obscurity  resting  upon  the  meagre  details  whicli  now  exist 
of  his  wonderful  adventures.  These  rude  records  show  a  per- 
plexing ignorance  of  geography,  which  defies  all  attempts  at  elu- 
cidation. Muniments,  however,  of  unquestionable  authenticity, 
still  exist  to  confirm  the  most  remarkable  prodigies  of  his  story. 
The  patent  of  knighthood  conferred  upon  him  by  Sigismund 
Bathor,  in  1603,  is  of  this  character.  It  recites  some  of  the  lead- 
ing events  of  his  life,  and  was  admitted  to  record  by  the  Garter 
King-at-arms  of  Great  Britain,  twenty-two  years  afterwards,  when  -y 
Smith's  services  in  the  establishment  of  the  American  colonies 
attracted  a  share  of  the  public  attention. 

He  possessed  many  of  the  points  of  a  true  knight.  He  was 
ambitious  of  honor,  yet  humble  in  his  own  praise, — tempering  his  r 
valor  with  modesty,  and  the  reckless  gallantry  of  the  cavalier 
with  irreproachable  manners.  A  simple  testimony  to  this  effect, 
but  a  sincere  one,  is  given  by  an  old  soldier  who  had  followed  him 
through  many  dangers,  and  who  shared  with  him  the  disasters  of 
the  defeat  at  Rothenturn.  It  is  appended,  by  the  author  of  it,  to 
Smith's  account  of  New  England.  His  name  was  Carlton,  and 
he  had  served  as  Smith's  ensign  in  the  wars  of  Transylvania. 
These  lines,  addressed  to  the  "  honest  Captaine,"  are  somewhat 
crabbed,  but  they  tell  pleasantly — 

"  Thy  •words  by  deeds,  so  long  thou  hast  approved, 
Of  thousands  know  thee  not,  thou  art  beloved. 
And  this  gi'eat  Plot  will  make  thee  ten  times  more 
Knowne  and  beloved  than  e'er  thou  wert  before. 
I  never  knew  a  warrior  yet  but  thee, 
From  wine,  tobacco,  debts,  dice,  oaths  so  free, 
********* 

Ho  signs  himself, 

"  Your  true  friend,  sometime  your  souldier, 

TIIO.  CARLTON." 


ik 

tOTii 

leai 
er 
ive 


^. 


«Sei 


tratii 
hi. 


CLOUDS.  499 

The  uncoutliness  of  the  verse  accords  with  the  station  of  the 
writer,  and  gives  a  greater  relish  to  the  compliment. 

It  may  be  pleasing  to  the  fair  portion  of  my  readers,  to  learn 
something  of  his  devotion  to  dames  and  lady-love,  of  which 
we  have  good  proof.  He  was  so  courteous  and  gentle,  that 
he  might  be  taken  for  a  knight  sworn  to  the  sex's  service.  He 
was  a  bachelor  too,  by  'r  lady  ! — and  an  honor  to  his  calling ; 
mingling  the  refinement  of  Sir  "Walter  Raleigh,  his  prototype, 
with  the  noble  daring  of  Essex  and  Howard.  Hear  with  what 
suavity  and  knightly  zeal  he  commends  his  gratitude  to  the  sex, 
in  recounting  his  various  fortunes  '•  to  the  illustrious  and  most 
noble  Princesse,  The  Lady  Francis,  Duchesse  of  Richmond  and 
Lenox ;"  and  with  what  winning  phrase,  like  a  modest  cavalier,  he 
consigns  his  History  of  Virginia  to  her  protection  ! — 

"  I  confess  my  hand,  though  able  to  wield  a  weapon  among  the  Barbarous, 
yet  well  may  tremble  in  handhug  a  pen  among  .so  many  judicious :  especially, 
when  I  am  so  bold  as  to  call  so  piercing  and  so  glorious  an  Eye,  as  your  Grace, 
to  view  these  poore  ragged  lines.  Yet  my  comfort  is,  that  heretofore,  honora- 
ble and  vertuous  Ladies,  and  comparable  but  amongst  themselves,  have  offered 
me  rescue  and  protection  in  my  greatest  dangers :  even  in  forraiue  parts,  I 
have  felt  relief  from  that  sex.  The  beauteous  Lady  Tragabizanda,  when  I 
was  a  slave  to  the  Turkes,  did  all  she  could  to  secure  me.  When  I  overcame 
the  Bashaw  of  ISTalbritz  in  Tartaria,  the  charitable  Lady  Callamata  supplyed 
my  necessities.  In  the  utmost  of  many  extremities,  that  blessed  Pokahoutas, 
the  great  King's  daughter  of  Tirginia,  oft  saved  my  life.  "When  I  escaped  tho 
cruelties  of  Phats  and  most  furious  stormes,  a  long  time  alone,  in  a  small  boai 
at  Sea,  and  driven  ashore  in  France,  the  good  Lady,  Madam  Chanoyes,  bounti- 
fully assisted  me. 

■■*  And  so  verily,  these  adventures  have  tasted  the  same  influence  from  your 
Gratious  hand,  which  hath  given  birth  to  the  pubhcation  of  this  narration." 
And,  thereupon,  he  prays  that  his  "  poore  booke,"  which  had  "  no  hclpe  but  the 
Shrine  of  her  glorious  name  to  be  sheltered  from  censorious  condemnation," 
might  be  taken  under  her  protection ;  and  "  that  she  would  vouchsafe  some 
glimpse  of  her  honorable  aspect  to  accept  his  labours,"  that  they  might  be  pre- 


500  CLOUDS.  * 

sented  "to  the  King's  Royall  Majestie,  the  most  admired  Prince  Charles,  and 
the  Queene  of  Bohemia." 

He  tells  her  that  '•  her  sweet  Recommendations  would  make 
it  worthier  their  good  countenances,"  and  concludes  by  assuring 
her,  "  that  this  page  should  record  to  Posteritie  that  his  service 
should  be  to  pray  to  God  that  she  might  still  continue  the  Re- 
nowned of  her  Sexe,  the  most  honored  of  Men,  and  The  Highly 
Blessed  of  God." 

What  a  fine  knightly  tone  is  there  in  this  commendation  of 
the  graces  of  his  mistress,  and  what  a  world  of  adventure  does  it 
suggest ! 

After  a  whole  mornyig  of  pleasant  study  I  closed  the  Chroni- 
cle and  restored  it  to  its  shelf,  with  a  renewed  admiration  of  the 
sturdy  and  courteous  cavalier  who  is  so  pre-eminently  entitled  to 
^   be  styled  the  True  Knight  of  the  Old  Dominion. 

The  character  of  Smith,  like  the  extraordinary  incidents  of 
his  life,  strikes  me  as  approaching  nearer  to  the  invention  of  a 
fiction  than  that  of  any  other  real  personage  of  history.  There 
is  in  it  so  much  plain  sense,  mingled  with  such  glory  of  manhood ; 
so  much  homely  wisdom  and  dauntless  bravery  combined — soi 
much  chivalrous  adventure,  set  off  with  so  much  honesty ;  so 
much  humility,  and  yet  so  much  to  boast  of — if  his  nature  were : 
vainglorious  : — these  qualities  are  all  so  well  balanced  in  his 
composition  that  they  have  an  epic  consistency,  and  scorn  more 
like  an  imagination,  than  a  reality.  It  puts  one  in  mind  of 
Chaucer's  Knight,  whose  description,  though  often  quoted,  will 
bear  a  repetition  here,  for  its  singular  application  to  the  history 
of  the  founder  of  Virginia. 

"  A  knight  there  was,  and  that  a  -worthy  man, 

That  fro  the  time  Ihat  he  firste  began 

To  ridcn  out,  lie  loved  chevalrio, 

Trouthe  and  honour,  fredom  and  curtesie. 


CLOUDS.  501 


At  mortal  batailes  hadde  he  ben  fiftene, 
And  foughten  for  our  faith  at  Tramissene 
In  listes  thries,  and  ay  slain  his  fo. 
This  like  worthy  knight  hadde  ben  also 
Somtime  with  the  lord  of  Palatie, 
Agen  another  hethen  in  Turkie : 
And  evermore  he  hadde  a  sovereine  pris. 
And  though  that  he  was  worthy  he  was  wise, 
And  of  his  port  as  meke  as  is  a  mayde, 
He  never  yet  no  vilaine  ne  sayde 
In  alle  his  lif,  irnto  no  manere  wight. 
He  was  a  veray  parfit,  gentil  knight.** 


f 


CHAPTER  XLIL 


PLEASANT     PROSPECTS. 


Another  morning  came.  The  rain  liad  ceased,  and  nature,  after 
her  three  days  of  drab  sobriety,  appeared  once  more  in  her  gay 
and  gallant  apparel  of  sunshine  and  flowers.  The  air  had  grown 
cooler.  The  verdure  of  the  fields  was  revived.  The  birds  sang 
with  unwonted  vivacity,  as  if  in  compensation  for  long  pent-up 
melodies.  The  change  of  weather  was  like  the  bursting  forth  of 
a  new  spring.  My  spirits  were  attuned  to  this  renovation  of 
earth  and  air,  by  the  prospect  of  returning  home — for  having 
once  set  my  thoughts  in  that  direction,  the  pleasure  of  the  re- 
turn rose  above  the  regrets  of  parting  with  friends  here,  or  so 
mingled  with  them  as  to  divide  the  mastery  of  the  contest. 

I  had  determined  that  my  homeward  journey  should  be  in- 
land, and  my  design,  therefore,  was  to  take  the  public  stage  from 
Petersburg,  thence  to  Richmond,  Fredericksburg,  and  Washing- 
ton. 

Soon  after  breakfast,  Meriwether's  carriage  was  at  the  door  to 
transport  me  as  far  as  the  first  of  the  towns  mentioned  above.  I 
found  that  my  cousin  Lucretia  had  provided  me  a  store  of  re- 
freshment sufficient  to  have  sustained  me  all  the  way  to  New- 
York.  This  was  neatly  put  up  in  a  basket,  and  placed  in  the 
carriage,  on  the  plea  that  I  might  be  hungry  upon  my  journey ; 


PLEASANT     TROSrECTS.  503 

or,  at  all  events,  that  I  might  not  fiod  as  good  fare  at  the  inns  as 
I  desired.  It  was  in  vain  to  refuse  ;  "  the  stages  were  long,  and 
no  one  knew  the  comfort  of  being  well  stocked  with  such  neces- 
saries until  he  Was  on  the  road."  I  submitted  with  a  good  grace, 
resolved  to  leave  what  was  given  me  in  the  carriage,  when  I 
arrived  at  Petersburg. 

And  now  came  the  moment  of  leave-taking,  the  most  painful 
of  all  the  accompaniments  of  travel.  If  I  had  been  nurtured  in 
the  family  from  infancy,  I  could  not  have  called  forth  more  affec- 
tionate solicitude ;  and  I  was  obliged  to  promise,  what  already 
was  indeed  my  secret  purpose,  to  repeat  my  visit.  Meriwether 
expressed  the  kindest  concern  at  my  leaving  him,  and  engaged, 
what  was  quite  unusual  for  him,  to  write  to  me  frequently  after 
I  should  arrive  at  home.  The  little  girls  kissed  me  a  dozen 
times,  and  the  whole  household,  servants  and  all,  collected  at  the 
door  to  exchange  farewells.  Ned  Hazard  now  sprang  into  the 
carriage  with  me,  and  we  drove  off. 

That  night  I  arrived  at  Petersburg.  Hazard  and  I  parted 
here  the  next  morning,  with  many  vows  of  friendship. 

In  due  course  of  time,  I  was  safely  seated  at  Longsides,  upon 
the  North  Kiver,  where  I  have  become  famous,  at  least  with  my 
mother  and  sisters,  for  my  long  stories  and  rapturous  commen- 
dations of  Swallow  Barn,  and  my  peremptory  way  of  telling  how 
things  are  done  in  the  Old  Dominion. 


POSTSCRIPT. 


In  the  course  of  the  winter  that  followed  my  return  to  Long- 
sides,  I  received  several  letters  from  Hazard,  from  Meriwether, 
and,  indeed,  from  most  of  the  family.  Harvey  Riggs,  also,  has 
been  a  punctual  correspondent.  A  letter  from  him,  dated  the 
tenth  of  January,  1830,  gives  me  a  droll  history  of  the  festivities 
at  The  Brakes  on  the  first  day  of  the  year,  when,  in  pursuance  of 
an  arrangement  which  Ned  himself  had  before  communicated  to 
me.  Hazard  and  Bel  were  joined  in  the  bands  of  holy  wedlock, 
Bel  having,  at  last,  surrendered  at  discretion.  Harvey's  com- 
ments upon  this  incident  are  expressed  in  the  following  extract : — 
"  After  you  left  us,  Ned  relapsed  into  all  his  extravagancies. 
In  truth,  I  believe  Bel  grew  heartily  tired  of  that  incompatible 
formality  of  manner  which  he  assumed  at  our  instigation.  It 
sat  upon  him  like  an  ill-fitted  garment,  and  rendered  him  the 
dullest  of  mortals.  Bel  took  the  matter  into  consideration,  and  at 
last  begged  him  to  be  himself  again.  Never  did  a  schoolboy  en- 
joy a  holiday  more  than  he  this  freedom ;  the  consequence  was, 
that  the  wight  ran  immediately  into  the  opposite  extreme, 
and  has  carried  the  prize,  notwithstanding  he  had  trespassed 
against  all  decorum,  and  had  been  voted  incorrigible.  The  stars 
have  had  an  influence  upon  this  match  !  I  devoutly  believe  that  it 
all  comes  from  old  Diana's  prophecy. 


POSTCRIPT.  505 

•'  Meriwether  discourses  philosophically  upon  the  subject,  and 
says  that '  marriage  is  a  matter  to  be  soberly  looked  at ;  for  if  it 
be  unwisely  contrived,  it  is  one  of  the  most  irrevocable  errors  in 
the  world,  though  not  the  most  unlikely  to  have  its  full  share  of 
repentance.'  " 

The  revelry  had  scarcely  ceased  at  the  date  of  this  letter  ; 
and  it  was  a  part  of  the  family  plans  that  Ned  should  live,  for  the 
present,  at  The  Brakes. 

Accounts  as  late  as  April  inform  me,  that  Philly  Wart  has 
just  been  re-elected  to  the  Legislature,  much  against  his  wish, 
and,  indeed,  in  the  face  of  his  protestations  that  he  declined  a 
poll.  He  is  said  to  have  remarked,  rather  petulantly,  at  the  close 
of  the  election,  "  that  it  was  all  nonsense  to  argue  the  question  of 
constitutional  doctrine, — here  was  a  case  in  point, — the  will  of  the 
constituent  will  bind  the  representative  in  spite  of  all  theories  !. 
The  worthy  barrister  had,  a  short  time  before,  covered  himself 
with  glory  by  one  of  his  most  flowery  speeches  at  the  bar,  in  de- 
fending his  brother,  Toll  Hedges,  upon  an  indictment  for  an  as- 
sault on  one  of  the  justices  of  the  quorum. 

It  is  at  a  still  later  date  that  Ned  writes  me  touching  the  af- 
fairs at  The  Brakes.  Mr.  Tracy  had  not  yet  become  reconciled 
to  the  extinction  of  the  lawsuit.  Ned  accompanied  him  lately 
upon  his  morning  ride,  and  the  old  gentleman  took  his  course  to 
the  Apple-pie.  Here,  as  Ned  describes  him,  he  took  a  stand  up- 
on the  mound  that  formed  one  of  the  abutments  of  the  dam,  and 
remained  silently  pondering  over  the  landscape  for  a  full  half 
hour,  and,  most  of  the  time,  tugging  at  his  under  lip  with  his 
hand.  "  It  was  singular,"  he  remarked  to  Hazard,  after  this  in- 
terval, "  that  Meriwether  should  have  fallen  into  the  error  of 
thinking  that  he  had  a  claim  to  this  land.  I  have  a  mind  to  give 
him^ny  ideas  on  paper.  It  will  be  instructive  to  you,  Mr.  Haz-  . 
ard." 

22 


606  POSTCRIPT, 

"  Frank  stood  upon  his  survey"  replied  Ned. 

"  I  doubt  if  there  was  a  survey,"  rejoined  the  old  gentleman  ; 
"  there  is  no  memorandum  of  it  in  my  notes." 

Ned  was  almost  afraid  to  contradict  him  ;  but  at  length  ven- 
tured to  say, — 

"  It  was  produced,  you  remember,  at  the  trial,  signed  by  Jer- 
emiah Perkins  himself." 

Mr.  Tracy  knitted  his  brows  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  It 
is  very  strange  !  I  don't  think  there  was  a  survey.  There  is  some 
mistake.     I  wish  the  thing  were  to  go  over  again  !" 

The  tenor  of  all  my  letters  now  shows  that  every  thing  goes 
on  smoothly  on  the  James  Eiver,  and  that  the  Old  Dominion 
contains  some  very  happy  persons  within  its  bosom. 


THE     END. 


/^5 


\ 


lA    T^  A  \^     I  I  v;  K 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


LOAN  DE 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 
Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  priod  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


MEu 


JUNl  G  1972  4  8 


jAN 


EEC  cm    JUL     3   1979 


mc^JVED 


19W 


-1 


iRCULATICN  D£PT. 


LD21A-60m-8,'70 
(N8837sl0)476 — A-32 


b. 


(H24lslO)476B 


rT«*^^".^'"3'I'Jbrarv 
•University  of  CiF^fJ    • 
BerkeJev '^^'■"'^ 


i 


KARItS 

""ft! 


CDM3bb3Dfi3 


■-♦ 


4, 


w/f^^ 


i  ^^'  ♦;»' 


--:^fi.: 


